Queen of Ashes
by luckandillusions
Summary: The realm is at war and the kings have made their claims, but not everyone can be a king. Every player is a chess piece in someone else's game, and if it gets them what they want, some of them are willing to watch the world burn. [[ multi-pov / multi-ship ]]
1. Prologue

**PROLOGUE**

 **"W** e'll go East," his mother had promised, while rubbing her swollen belly. She painted beautiful pictures of the land across the Narrow Sea. Tales of the beauty in Lys, the Lyseni had the same Valyrian blood in their veins as House Targaryen. Promises of the safety they would find behind the Black Wall of Old Volantis that housed any noble who could trace their lineage back to Valyria before the Doom. Rhaella had planted many dreams into her son's head, but Rhaella Targaryen had lied.

Viserys had known the truth of it the night the storm raged on Dragonstone. There would be no "we" that included his mother. He'd been summoned to Rhaella's chambers in the midst of her labor, much to the dismay of the midwife and maester. There was blood, so much blood. But still, Rhaella had grasped his hand tightly and called him "my dear boy," even as she screamed in pain. The storm outside cast eerie shadows on the stones. Flashes of lightning lit the room in bursts, and the claps of thunder that followed echoed through the bedchamber.

He was frozen, still as stone. He hardly noticed when his mother let go of his hand and a moment later a tiny babe was pressed into his arms. "Hold her, there's another coming," the midwife had said, her mud-brown eyes as grave as if Rhaella was already dead. He looked down at the infant. She was robust, with tiny toes plump as berries and eyes as bright and purple as lilacs. "Rhaenyra," his mother whispered. The maester had only shaken his head and muttered, "May she reign for more than half a year."

Viserys thought of his brother, slain at the Trident if the rumors were to be believed. Rhaegar should have been King. He would have made a good king. Instead his son would be heir to King Aerys. Aegon was only a boy, but already Prince of Dragonstone. Rhaenyra would be his Queen one day, when the war ended. _And the war_ will _end_. Viserys had said it so many times he almost believed it.

But Rhaella Targaryen would not be there to see that day, that much had become clear. The second child would rob them all of a mother. Outside the storm raged on, though the lightning had stopped. Viserys looked down at his sister, her purple eyes starring up at him. _The lightning is in her eyes_ , he thought.

The second girl burst into the world with a wail, her cries so loud he thought surely she must be dying. Rhaella's voice could hardly be heard over the screams as she spoke the child's name. Then she took her son's hand again. Her violet eyes were sad, they were always so sad. It was as if she saw the horrors of the world in her very dreams. "You must protect them," she said, her voice barely a whisper on the wind. And then, like a candle going out, Rhaella Targaryen died.

A tear rolled down his chin, dropping on his sister's forehead. Rhaenyra didn't cry. She only stared with her big purple eyes. Daenerys wailed enough for everyone in the room.

He couldn't be sure how long he'd sat there before the wet nurse came for Rhaenyra. Viserys wouldn't leave her side, however. He hovered making the woman uncomfortable, until she was done and Rhaenyra was returned to his arms. The first Rhaenyra was the daughter of King Viserys I Targaryen. "When we're in the East, I'll be like your father," he whispered in her ear. "You'll learn from me, like she learned from him." But that was yet another thing Rhaella had lied about.

The day the maester brought the raven from King's Landing, the wet nurse cried. Viserys might have too, but he was the last son of King Aerys II Targaryen and princes did not cry. "We're to go East. Mother promised," he said, though those were a boy's words. He was almost a man grown. "It isn't safe in King's Landing, everyone knows that."

"The King commands it," the maester said regretfully. "It isn't my place to question him."

"He can't have her, she's mine," Viserys said, turning his back to shield the girl. "Mother said I must protect her." The light through the window, reflected in Rhaenyra's purple eyes. They were light, so light they seemed blue in some lights. It was the color of the pale lilac of dawn. Her hair stuck up in little tufts of white, like soft clouds. _Dawn_. It was a commoner's name. For a moment he almost considered spiriting her away and disguising her as a milkmaids' daughter. _The Dawn Princess_. But that would never do. Not even the dragonseeds of the island showed the Targaryen coloring like she did. Perhaps he could switch the girls, send Daenerys to King's Landing instead. But the maester and the wet nurse would know right away. Rhaenyra was more robust and so much quieter. Daenerys would wail half way to the Red Keep.

In the end he relinquished Rhaenyra to the maester's hands. "We will usher in a new dawn for House Targaryen," Aerys had written. Viserys tried to hold onto the words. Maybe they were true. The King could win the war and have his family back together before year's end. But the servants whispered otherwise. "The city will burn," they said. "Aerys will see his daughter burn beside him." A part of him wanted to shout back, _fire cannot kill the dragon!_ They would rise from the ashes better and stronger and take their fire to the usurper and his dogs.

But still, tears glimmered in his eyes when dawn came and his sister was taken away. The wet nurse had the compassion to shove Daenerys into his arms, but the girl only took up her wailing again. She was hot to the touch as if fire burned under her skin. _Daenerys is fire, but fires can be put out. Rhaenyra was lighting, sharp and uncontrollable, and she had the sun in her eyes_.

Viserys woke in a tangle of blankets wrapped so tightly around him he could hardly breathe. The hot Pentoshi sun beat down on him through the window. The silhouette of a girl stood on the balcony, long silver hair cascading down her back. "Dawn," the name was a whisper on his lips, but the girl turned. It wasn't Rhaenyra. It was only a silver-haired bed-slave from Lys. Her eyes weren't even purple.

"You missed dawn, m'lord," she chided, her voice sultry and smooth. She sauntered toward him, hands lifting to push the bedrobe from her shoulders.

Viserys held a hand up to stop her. "Not now. I have matters to discuss with Illyrio. Have him brought to my solar, with wine." The whore frowned, but hurried off. Viserys walked to the balcony, overlooking the Magister's gardens. Dawn was gone, and Rhaenyra was dead. But he had long ago pushed his regrets aside. He was the last dragon, and there was a crown waiting for him across the Narrow Sea.


	2. Amina I

**AMINA**

 **T** he Godswood were beautiful this time of day. The sunlight came in through the red leaves and cast a glow on the pool below. Amina lay beneath her favorite tree, a tall soldier pine with a multitude of thick branches meant for climbing. The sticky sap on her dress was evidence enough that she'd already climbed the tree once that day, and was giving serious consideration to a second trip up.

Her considerations were cut short by an attack, she let out a tiny squeal as a blur of black and grey pinned her to the ground. She kicked, her legs causing her skirts to hike up around her waist, and clawed at the dark haired boy. Finally she gained the upper hand. They'd been here too many times. She knew all his weaknesses. Amina flipped him over, straddling him. Her own black hair had fallen out of its braid and cascaded around her face as she stared down at him with a grin. "You make this too easy, Snow."

"Catelyn sent me," Jon said, sheepishly. It wasn't the first time her lady mother had sent hunters after her, and it was surely not the last. Jon Snow was the only one who could ever find her. "You had me worried too. I thought you'd run away this time for sure, Ami."

Amina leaned down, her face hovering above his. "You know I'd never run away without you." She ran a lot, but the furthest she'd ever gone was Castle Cerwyn. Lord Medger had invited her to stay for supper and then sent her back to Winterfell with an escort. Amina would have come back anyway, she always did. She'd learned long ago that running scared Catelyn Tully half to death, and when Catelyn was scared she was like to give Amina whatever she wanted. Running had gained her almost everything important in her life: her knives, sword fighting lessons, peace and quiet. The only thing she _hadn't_ begged out of Ned and Cat was Jon Snow.

Jon propped himself up on his elbows to close the distance between them, and pressed his lips to hers. It was a sweet, soft kiss. He tasted of pine and honey. Amina sat up quickly. "Are there honeycakes?"

Jon nearly choked on his laughter. "There are if Arya hasn't eaten them all by now. If you want some, you should hurry inside."

She rolled off him, dropping back into the pine-needle bed beneath the trees. Small, red-eyed Ghost licked at her face. Amina lifted a hand to scratch under the direwolf's chin. "If I go in, Catelyn will find me and want to lecture me on being a proper lady. As if I don't know how to put on a good show." Amina ran her fingers though her hair, untangling the rest of her braid. "I won't embarrass anyone in front of the King."

"Your hair's fading," Jon noticed, reaching out to twirl a piece of grey-black hair around his finger. "She'll want to dye it again before the royal family comes." As if attempting to protect Amina from that fate, Ghost clambered into her lap.

Amina groaned, a long drawn out noise, and stuck her bottom lip out in a pout. "The dye makes it smell for a week. Tyrosh is famed for their dyes, yet they can't manage to remove the stink? I bet someone at the market is cheating us. It's probably not Tyroshi dye, it's probably some tar they cooked up in a kettle." She held a chunk of particularly faded hair up to the light; if she squinted she could almost see the silver. Or maybe that was just grey.

"Do you want to run away?" She asked suddenly. Amina had thought about it a hundred times. The world was so big and full of mysteries, and she'd only seen one tiny corner of it. "We could go to King's Landing, where my family lived. Or across the Narrow Sea on a trading galley. We could be sellswords in the Golden Company, or merchants in Qarth. Or we could learn magic in Asshai and never want for anything ever again."

"You won't want for anything," he said after a moment. "Not when you're the Lady of Winterfell." Jon looked at her with his sad grey eyes. She'd known for most her life that she would marry Robb Stark one day. Their betrothal was a secret from most. To the world she was only a highborn girl from an extinct house. Ned and Cat had taken her in as a ward, raising her alongside their children, grooming her to be the perfect little lady. They'd even gone through a whole show of parading her off to the seats of all the Northern lords as if they were actually seeking a match for her. But nothing would change her blood. She was a dragon and one day there would be no more hiding it.

"I don't want to be Lady Stark. I don't want to raise children and sit on my hands while men fight battles leagues away. I want adventure." It was the only thing she couldn't weasel out of Catelyn with her running. She'd conceded to Amina's sword fighting lessons, and her throwing knives. Allowed her to go on hunts and attend tourneys as far south as the Twins. But whenever she asked to be set free, her lady mother would only pet her hair and promise that one day Ned would tell King Robert of her lineage, and Amina would finally be free. They had very different definitions of the word.

Jon shook his head. "You're lucky." They'd had this conversation a dozen times. There were so many things they understood about each other. Bastards and orphans were not so different. Surrounded by loved ones, they were still alone. But on this matter they couldn't be more opposite. "Thousands of girls would kill to be in your shoes."

"I'd gladly hand them over without all the bloodshed," she quipped. "I'd be a peasant if it meant I could be with you."

Before he could answer, there was a shout from the gate of the Godswood. "Jon? Did you find her?" Catelyn's voice was tinted with worry. Still, she remained outside the gate. Catelyn Tully never entered the Godswood without a reason. It was just one of the many differences between Amina and the woman who raised her. "I see you sitting on the ground. Is she hurt? Don't tell me she fell out of a tree again."

Amina pushed herself to her feet with a huff. The direwolf barked as he tumbled into the pine needles. "I'm quite alright!" She called toward the gate.

Catelyn tore through the trees and wrapped Amina in a hug. She squeezed tight enough to crush bone, but Amina knew she was more than strong enough to shake Cat off if she wanted to. But she never did. At the end of the day, Lady Stark was the closest thing she'd ever had to a mother. The love she gave was welcome, even if it was often stifling.

When Catelyn finally let go, she ran her hands over Amina's hair, taking a good look at her. "You nearly scared me to death. I thought for sure someone had kidnapped you this time." It was unusual for Amina to run off without first kicking up a fuss. But this time hadn't been a ploy to gain anything, only a moment to breathe. "Your hair is much too light, this won't do. Come inside, there's still time to set the dye before dinner."

Amina let out a long sigh, but she knew better than to argue. There were few things that Catelyn stood her ground on, but the hair dye was one of them. Jon gave her an apologetic look from the ground, and an awkward half wave as Catelyn tugged Amina out of the Godswood and toward her smelly fate.


	3. Catelyn I

**CATELYN**

 **P** laying with her daughters' hair had always been relaxing for Catelyn. That was the reason she took on the task of washing and dying Amina's hair even now. She trusted her handmaids and servants well enough, but why pass along the job when doing it herself was just as easy and a hundred times more relaxing.

Sansa had caught them on the stairs and followed them up, eager to have Amina as a captive audience to her stories. More oft than not, Amina found excuses to escape the younger girl. While the dye set in Amina's hair, Catelyn brushed her own daughter's auburn locks till they shined. All the while, Sansa went on about the royal family. Her direwolf, Lady, lay curled up at her feet. "The Queen has two brothers. Jaime is in the Kingsguard, they say his hair shines nearly as bright as his armor."

"They also say he killed the last king," Amina muttered. Sansa pretended not to hear, and continued on.

"Queen Cersei's children are just as beautiful as she is. Joffrey is near my age, they say he might be as brave a knight as Ser Jaime one day."

Amina screwed up her nose. "Who is this _they_ you keep referring to, and why do you believe _they_ know anything about the royal family?"

"Jeyne Poole knows all the best stories," Sansa explained, not catching the biting sarcasm in her sister's tone. "I'm surprised you haven't heard about them. I can help you brush up of your studies if you'd like. I could even help with your needlework if you would like to make something nice for the Queen."

Even Catelyn had to laugh then. Sansa gave her mother a scalding look in the mirror. "Sansa, I'm afraid not even you could save Amina's needlework. Everyone has something they must work at." The redhead frowned, as if unsure what the appropriate response was.

"I appreciate the offer, but mother's right," Amina said from her chair. "Your hands were meant to sew, mine were meant to throw knives." She pantomimed throwing one of the silver knives on her belt. Catelyn was almost surprised Amina hadn't actually let one loose, it would have scared Sansa into tears. But, no, Amina was not Arya. She was no proper lady, at least not when it came to needlework, but Amina had grace. If only she could teach Arya how to wield courtesies, instead of weapons. _On second thought, I can't imagine having two daughters who know how to kill a man with words_ and _knives_.

Catelyn twisted Amina's freshly dyed hair back from her face. She brushed it through, one last time, with a dash of rose water to hide the telltale smell off Tyroshi dye. "There you are, good as new." Amina ran her fingers through her hair, admiring the way her hair shown. Even with so many layers of dye, it still gleamed with an otherworldly quality. It was as if they'd turned the silver-gold to obsidian.

"You look like a princess," Sansa said wistfully. "Even the King will say so."

"Go on, both of you," Cat said, shooing her daughters toward the door. "You'll have new dresses waiting for you in your rooms." Sansa and Amina looked at each other with grins. Dresses were one thing the eldest girls could agree on. Despite her affinity for weapons, Amina still loved a fine gown. _Too much_ , Catelyn thought with a shake of her head. She'd ruined more than a few while play fighting with the boys in yard.

"I can't wait to meet the prince, they say he's dashing," Sansa singsonged as they walked out the door. "Aren't you excited?"

"You mean Jeyne Poole says he's dashing," Amina said. "There isn't a boy Jeyne Poole _doesn't_ find dashing. I'm only excited for the food, Jon said there were honeycakes."

"Those are meant for tomorrow," Sansa warned.

Amina let out one sharp laugh. "If we wait until tomorrow, Arya will have them all eaten." Sansa's resulting giggle carried down the corridor. As Catelyn put the combs and perfumes in their proper places, Catelyn smiled to herself.

No sooner had the girls departed than Eddard appeared in their place. She paused her tidying to turn toward him. "Preparations are almost complete for the King's arrival. Even with such a short time to prepare, the rooms are ready and the kitchens are overflowing."

Ned glanced toward the hall with a raised eyebrow. "Not if that one has anything to say about it. She nearly slid down the balustrade singing something about honeycakes."

Catelyn pressed two fingers to her forehead and sighed. "It's a miracle her wardrobe isn't in tatters."

"To think we believed age would make her manageable." They both laughed quietly at the idea.

"Perhaps the North could do with a bit more of her humor," Catelyn noted. The Northerners had always possessed a strange solemnity. It was present in everything from their castles to their house words.

"Perhaps your right," Ned acquiesced. He crossed to the window and looked down at the courtyard below. It was bustling as everyone hurried to make last minute preparations for the King's arrival. "It's been too long, and this day is endless."

Cat shook her head amused. It was nice to see Eddard this happy, even with the news of Jon Arryn's passing. Though the weeks of the King's visit would be chaotic, it would all be worth it if it could lift Ned's spirits. But still, there was the matter of a direwolf dead in the snow with a broken antler in its throat. A bad omen for things to come.

She touched Ned's arm lightly. "Come, I'm sure there are still preparations to be made. The day will go quicker if you have something to do."

He sighed. "I came here for a break, and you're sending me back to work." Catelyn smiled and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, willing the dread she felt to go away.


	4. Eddard I

**EDDARD**

 **I** t was a chilly, late-summer morning when the King's party arrived in Winterfell. From the look of it, Robert had brought half of King's Landing along with him. Most would make camp outside the castle walls, while others would be lodging in the winter town, only the royal family and their household would be staying within the castle. Even still, it was enough to throw all of Winterfell into a flurry of activity. Feats were to be held, and Robert would want to hunt, of course. There were a thousand things to get in order, and they'd only been given a few short weeks to prepare.

Nine years had passed since Ned had seen Robert Baratheon, and he was unsure what to expect. The Iron Throne was known to change those who sat upon it. How would Robert have changed in the years since?

Ned needn't wait long to find his answer. If it weren't for Robert's roaring voice and the bone-crushing hug he gave his old friend, Ned might not have recognized the man at all. He'd gained at least eight stone since the day they stood in Balon Greyjoy's fallen castle and accepted the rebel lord's surrender and his youngest son as hostage and ward.

Theon Greyjoy chose that moment to whisper something into Amina's ear that sent the girl into a fit of barely contained giggles. The dark haired girl clung to his arm, and hid her face in his shoulder until she managed to compose herself. After which, she delivered a stealthy punch to his ribs that made the lordling grimace. Ned gave them both a look of warning, but too late. Their antics had already caught the attention of the King.

Robert stopped in front of Amina, where she stood a few rows back. She gave him a shy smile, though Ned knew it was only a ruse. He couldn't remember a time when the girl had truly been shy. Amina curtsied, but the King continued to stare. Eddard knew what Robert was seeing. _Lyanna_.

There was many a time when even Ned saw Lyanna in the girl. It wasn't Amina's look, no, her coloring was wrong. Lyanna had hair the color of chestnuts, and eyes grey as the bricks of Winterfell. Whereas Amina's hair was coal black, and her eyes were blue as ice. No, they shared no common features, but they carried themselves the same way. There was defiance in the way Amina rolled back her shoulders when she spoke, and a sparkle in her eye that said she was always in on the joke. Like Lyanna, she rode horses as well as any man, and practiced with bows and swords until blisters bubbled on her hands. But Amina was no wolf.

After a long moment, Robert appeared to realize he had been staring, but offered no word of apology. "You have a name, girl?"

"Amina," she answered, voice crisp, almost indignant. There were few things she loathed more than giving her stolen name. "Lady Amina Corrigan, your grace." She curtsied again, and gave the King another smile.

"Ah, the _other_ ward." He nodded as if her answer explained everything. House Corrigan had gone extinct during the Rebellion. They'd been small and confined to an island, not unlike the Mormonts. But their Lord Corrigan had been young and eager to prove himself on the mainland, so eager that he'd committed all his fighting men to Robert's cause. When Beldain Island was abandoned, save for the women, children, and old men, the Ironborn took the opportunity to attack. They had carted off their gold and their women, and then burned the rest.

What had been a tragedy for House Corrigan had proved a Gods' blessing for Amina. The Beldish were known for sable hair and pale blue eyes. The girl's coloring was near enough to match, and those that knew the islanders well enough to tell the difference had burned with the Corrigans.

"Leave it to the Ironborn to rob this kingdom of Beldish beauty," Robert said, going as far as to spit on the ground, much to his Queen's disgust. Theon shifted uncomfortably, but Amina had him firmly in her grip. "Leaves you to carry it on. Surprised there isn't a line of suitors at the gate for you."

Amina gave a polite laugh. "Lord Stark frightens them all away."

That earned a chuckle out of the King as well. He still had the same loud, hearty laugh he'd had since they were boys. "I wouldn't doubt that for a moment." Robert clapped a hand on Eddard's shoulder. "Let the girl have some fun, Ned!" Amina shared a look with Theon that nearly had them both in stitches again. It was unlike the girl to be so free with her laughter in front of guests, but with the stresses of the past weeks Ned couldn't fault her for it.

Ned just shook his head; the girl had plenty of fun, though perhaps of a different sort than the King was implying. Amongst the household, his wards were thought to be a two-headed terror. When they weren't stealing from the kitchens or sparring on the roofs, they were in the winter town. Of late, their favorite haunt was the Smoking Log, an alehouse known for its brawls. From the bruises Amina returned home with, it was evident it was more than just silver she put at risk.

"Come, meet the rest of my children," Ned called.

Robert turned and threw his arm around his friend's shoulder. "Yes, and then take me down to your crypts, Eddard. I would pay my respects." As they moved on, Ned noticed that the King wasn't the only one whose attention had been captured by Amina. The Queen's eldest brother, Ser Jaime Lannister, was watching her as well. Ned frowned. Though he wasn't certain why, the look on the knight's face left him with a sense of dread.


	5. Jon I

**JON**

 **J** on had been tucked in the back of the hall with the younger squires, but he didn't mind. The company here was surely better than that of the royalty on the dais. He'd had the chance to judge them all from his vantage point as they entered the Great Hall. The Queen, though beautiful, wore a smile like wax. Her King was no more impressive, fat and sweating though his silks.

Robb escorted Princess Myrcella in, grinning like a fool. Jon didn't see much in her to inspire that sort of reaction, the tiny blonde seemed uninspiring and commonplace compared to the princess they spent every day with. Arya and Sansa entered with Princes Tommen and Joffrey respectively. The eldest prince, though younger than Jon, was taller, and he frowned at the hall as if it were beneath him. Sansa didn't appear to notice however, and smiled up at him dreamily.

Among the last to enter were the Queen's brothers. Ser Jaime was tall and gallant with golden hair and he wore the white armor of the Kingsguard. He looked like a true knight straight out of Sansa's beloved songs. The dwarf was more than a few steps behind, attempting to keep up.

On the arm of the Kingslayer, was Amina. Her hair was newly dyed and so black it seemed to drink in the light. Her gown was silver and white, like Sansa's. But Amina wore rubies around her neck and dangling from her ears, red and sparkling like dragon blood. She looked every bit the princess that she was. Ser Jaime whispered something in her ear and she laughed, not the polite giggle she'd given King Robert when he praised her beauty, but a true laugh. Jon could see the smirk on her face when her eyes darted toward the dais, and knew the next words out of her mouth were some scathing joke. It was Jaime's turn to laugh then. They seemed as if they were old friends.

He'd started drinking then, and had not stopped. There was no one here to limit him to only one glass of wine, and he told himself he was fortunate in that.

Some time later, uncle Benjen joined them at the back table, squeezing in beside Jon and stealing away his summerwine. He took one look at his nephew, who'd long since lost count of how many glasses he'd had, and laughed. "Well, I believe I was younger than you the first time I got truly and sincerely drunk."

Benjen scratched between Ghost's ears under the table, and snuck him a chicken leg while no one was looking. Jon hardly noticed, for across the room Amina's head was bent toward Jaime Lannister's as they talked so intensely it was as if they were sat alone. Jon had sat with her like that a hundred times, and more oft than not she could be found with Theon Greyjoy, heads bent together plotting something sure to get them both in trouble. But they, along with Robb, had been by her side for years.

"Have you heard a word I've said, boy?" Benjen asked, waving a roast onion in Jon's face. "You fancy the Corrigan girl?" It took half a moment for Jon to recall the name Amina was most known as, and when he did, he flushed. "They do say she's the darling of Winterfell, or the terror, depending who you ask."

"Depending on the day," Jon murmured.

"She's the only one on the dais who appears to be enjoying herself," his uncle noticed. "Other than the King." Jon had realized that too. His father was polite but withdrawn, and the Queen was cold as an ice sculpture. Even his half-siblings seemed finally to realize their companions were less interesting than expected. Only Amina's glowing smile matched the King's drunken revelry, and she knew better than to be in her cups at a feast.

If only Jon himself had half the restraint. Her words came back to him from the evening before. She'd asked him to run away with her, as she had a dozen times before. Each time he'd turned her down, for this reason. This world, with nobility and politics and feasts, it was her world. She belonged here, in Winterfell, with Robb. No matter how she begged, Amina Targaryen was not meant to be a bastard's wife. She would always want for more, she would always deserve a crown. Jon could never give her that life, but just like Amina, he wanted for more as well.

He turned back to his uncle, a man of the Night's Watch, an honorable order. Jon would never be a Lord like Robb, never command armies like Bran and Rickon, but in the Night's Watch he could be _something_. "When you go back to the Wall, take me with you."

Benjen watched his nephew for a heartbeat. "The Wall is a hard place for a boy, Jon."

"I know what I'm asking, and I am ready to take an oath."

His uncle glanced toward the dais, then back to Jon. "We have no families, none of us will ever father sons. Our wife is duty. Our mistress is honor. Until you have known a woman, you cannot understand what you would be giving up. Come back to me when you've fathered a few bastards of your own, and we'll see how you feel."

"I will never father a bastard," he insisted, enunciating each word. "Never!"

The table had fallen silent, the other men watching the altercation between uncle and nephew, and Jon felt the tears welling up in his eyes. He stood, and stepped away from the table. "I must be excused." It was the summerwine, he'd had too much. On his way out of the hall, he nearly tripped over his own feet and he stumbled into a serving girl who spilled her tray.

He hardly acknowledged the laugher, or the hands that offered to help him keep his feet. Jon pushed through the doors and stepped out into the yard. He took up a dulled practice sword and swung it at one of the targets. Once, twice, three times. Straw flew around him.

"If you take the arm off, Ser Rodrick will make you sew it back on yourself." Jon turned at the familiar voice. Amina stood there, in her gown and jewels, looking entirely out of place in the training yard. She climbed up on the railing, as if she were wearing leather pants and a tunic instead. "You made quite a fuss inside. That poor serving girl ran crying into the kitchens."

Jon flushed. "I drank more than I ought have."

She hummed. "Then you're in good company. Most of the hall could say the same, not the least of which the King himself." Amina pushed herself from the railing, and took the sword from his hand, returning it to the stand. She led him around the corner, out of sight of the sentry on the battlement. One of her hands tangled in his curls. "Are you alright?"

Jon nodded, though Amina's frown indicated she saw right through it. But he couldn't tell her the things he'd thought, couldn't tell her he'd asked to be taken far away. Before she could ask again, he leaned her against the wall and brought his lips down to hers. Her arms snaked around his neck, pulling him closer toward her.

After a moment, she pulled away, looking up at him. "One day, we'll be free of this. I feel it in my bones. We were meant for more than this."

Jon kissed her forehead. "Go. They'll miss you inside." She held him in her arms for a moment, then gave a nod. "Give them a good show."

"I always do." Amina let him go, and slipped out from under his arms. When she was halfway to the door, she turned to curtsey and give him a wink, before disappearing back into the great hall. When she was gone, Jon stood there in the yard, alone.


	6. Arya I

**ARYA**

 **A** rya found Amina and Jon sitting in the windowsill of the covered bridge between the armory and the Great Keep. She wiggled herself between them with a grin. Her direwolf, Nymeria, danced around below, urging Ghost to play. "Has Robb beaten the prince yet?" She asked, reclining her head against Amina.

"Once or twice," Amina told her with a smirk. They'd all decided Prince Joffrey was an entitled brat. Only Sansa remained under his spell, but that was to be expected. "Avoiding needlework?"

The younger girl huffed. Arya had always considered Amina her favorite sister. Maybe they shared no blood, but when Sansa was the other option, it was easy to choose. Sansa was always so difficult to get along with, but Amina shared Arya's affinity for weapons and horses. And while Sansa considered those affinities faults, Arya had no such disdain for Amina's love of dresses and histories, though she'd rather avoid them herself. "How did you get out of lessons?" Arya asked, linking her arm through her sister's.

Amina shrugged a shoulder. "I've been given leave of my lessons with Septa Mordane. I suppose it's a consolation. When the rest of you go to the capital, I'll be left behind." Arya frowned at the reminder. She overheard her father discussing Amina with the King. Robert wanted Amina to join them; there were many more suitors in the south, after all. But Ned had insisted she was better suited for the North, and ought to stay behind to help Catelyn run the day-to-day business of Winterfell.

"Left behind to be a _Lady_ ," Arya reminded her. With a teasing smirk, she added, "You and Robb might as well be married already." Beside them Jon intently watched Bran fight the younger prince. "I don't want to go to King's Landing, can't you beg mother to let me stay?"

Amina ruffled the girl's hair. "I doubt it would have much effect. Besides, the capital will be good for you, just wait. When you return you'll speak half a dozen languages and have friends from every corner of the world." Hereyes glittered at the prospect, so Arya kept her mouth shut and her opinions toherself.

They all looked back down as Bran rushed at Tommen again. "I could do just as good as Bran," Arya insisted.

"You're too skinny," Jon said with a laugh. "I doubt you could even lift a longsword, little sister, never mind swing one."

"Neither could Bran! They're using wooden swords."

"She is right. We all start somewhere." Amina smiled softly.

Below Joffrey challenged Robb to a fight with live steel, but Ser Rodrick refused. Arya wondered if it was because he knew Robb would win. The prince would surely run crying to his mother and then they might all be in trouble. "Oh, let them fight!" Amina taunted. Theon smirked up at her and she laughed. "Come, Arya. The show's over, and there's something I want to show you before Catelyn chases you down."

Arya climbed down from the windowsill, leaning against it while she waited for Amina to follow. Amina put her hand on Jon's shoulder and squeezed. Leaning down over his shoulder, she whispered, "See you tonight." In the yard, Theon watched them with a frown. Amina blew him a kiss. Then she turned, tossed her arm 'round Arya's shoulder, and led her into the keep.

In Amina's room, Arya made herself comfortable on the bed, stretching out like she had a hundred times before, while Amina searched though her wardrobe. She hardly remember the last time Amina had left Winterfell for any length of time. Arya was so used to sneaking into Amina's room whenever she felt like it to listen to stories until she fell asleep.

Amina turned, and laid out her knife roll across the bed. Arya slid over to inspect them. She'd seen Amina throw them countless times, but never had she been so close. Amina slid one out and turned it over in her hand. It was silver, like all the others, but the handle was polished obsidian, not bone like the rest. "A knight gave me this knife, years ago at a tourney. This is the knife I taught myself to throw with. Take it to King's Landing with you."

"Oh, I couldn't!" Arya protested, even as she took the knife in her hands and turned it over like Amina had. The obsidian was as black as Amina's hair, and near as shiny. It felt like she was holding something important, and she knew without a doubt this was Amina's favorite knife.

"It's the last knife I reach for," Amina explained, as if she'd read her thoughts. "It's weighted differently from the rest. Here, I'll teach you how to throw it, and then you can practice while you're gone."

"Do you name knives?" She asked, still studying the knife.

"No, only swords." Amina smiled conspiratorially. "But perhaps you should be considering a good sword name too." Arya furrowed her brow, but before she could ask any questions, Amina was pulling back a tapestry on her wall, exposing a makeshift target beneath it. "Come on, let me show you how to throw her."


	7. Amina II

**AMINA**

 **T** he Godswood were quiet as Jon's words hung in the air between them. Going to the Wall to take the black. _I should have know_ , she cursed. It had been near a moon's turn since he'd decided, but no one had spoken the words to her face and she turned a deaf ear to the chatter. She'd been so busy. After Bran had fallen from the Burned Tower things had seemed to speed up, and Amina was always running to catch up with them. Her nights were consumed with worry for Bran, and her days were spent grooming her sisters for the capital. Amina hadn't even gone out of her way to avoid Jon, she just hadn't time to sneak away. But finally the time had come.

In the Godswood, under her favorite soldier pine, he said goodbye. "We always knew this had to end," he said, though she could hardly hear over the pounding of her heart in her chest. _He must hear it; he must know this will kill me_.

"It doesn't have to," she whispered. _Queens don't beg_ , she scolded herself, but that didn't stop the words from coming out of her mouth. "You can stay. Please." Her vision was cloudy with tears, but she didn't dare raise a hand to wipe them from her eyes. She'd used her tears a hundred times to get her way, why would this be any different?

Jon kissed her, hard and hungry as if this were their last kiss. As if he had to burn the taste of her into his memory. _This is_ not _our last kiss,_ she promised herself. _I won't let it be._ Amina could taste the salt of tears, but wasn't sure if they were his or her own. When she opened her eyes, he was gone.

Amina felt the snow under her knees. She didn't remember falling. Her forehead pressed into the bark of their tree. For hours she stayed like that, letting the sobs tear through her body until they finally ran out. The sun came up, and the castle grew quiet. He was gone, she knew. They all were. Amina was alone.

Amina bounced Rickon on her hip, while they watched Robb and Theon spar in the yard. Robb had been graduated from blunted training swords to live steel, and was determined to make good use of the new weapon. Amina wanted nothing more than to join them, but someone had to care for the youngest boy. Ned and the girls were eight days gone and Catelyn hadn't been seen outside Bran's bedchamber since.

"Lady Corrigan," Maester Luwin called from the terrace. "May I have a word?"

Amina gave a nod, and sat Rickon atop a hay bale. "Mind the boy," she warned Robb, before turning to Rickon and urging him to stay in his seat. Luwin stood at the top of the stairs, with books and papers. "Are we back to lessons then?"

The maester shook his head, and offered her a list. "Unfortunately, we are not. There are appointments to be made, ones that cannot wait." Amina scanned the names upon the list. "We're in need of a new captain for the guard, for one. Then there's the matter of food stores, the King's men had healthy appetites."

"And winter is coming," Amina finished. "Catelyn should review the figures, _and_ the names." She hardly paused before she answered her own thought. "But Cat hasn't left Bran's bedside in a fortnight." Maester Luwin gave a small nod. "Very well, Robb and I will review the necessary tasks on the morrow, will that be alright?"

For a moment, she thought Luwin might protest. But they both looked down at the scene below. Robb, though sweating from the fight, was grinning like she hadn't seen since Bran's fall. "Very well," he acquiesced.

The maester retreated into the keep, and Amina lingered on the terrace for a moment, watching her boys from above. It was good to see smiles on their faces, though she couldn't imagine conjuring one of her own. For a moment Robb looked unburdened, like the boy he was supposed to be. Though Amina was Robb's elder only by a few short months, she hadn't been afforded the luxury of girlhood. No, she'd been tearfully removed from that bliss the day she learned her life was in perpetual danger. Sparing Robb one last day of playful sparring and smiles was an easy choice. He could grow up tomorrow.

Amina leaned over the railing, and called out below, "Either of you brave enough to face me in a knife throwing contest?"

Winterfell was empty without Catelyn. At least that was how it felt to Amina, as if her departure to the south had been the tipping point. Ned and Cat were the heart and soul of the castle. Though years of lessons had been leading to this day, the day Robb and Amina would take their place, neither of them expected it would come quite so soon. But it was good for her, busywork to distract her from the dark and ragged hole in her chest.

"Garrett of the winter town," Amina said when the subject of new guardsmen was breached. "He's lowborn, but he knows his way around weapons. I'd feel confident betting on him in a fight." In fact she had bet on him, many times. Sometimes even against Theon, but more oft against the bigger and uglier tavern-goers.

Garrett wasn't particularly large, but he was fast and deadly. He called Amina _Quicksilver_ for the way she drew her knives. Garrett had been at her back in countless brawls. Maester Luwin gave Amina a curious look, but wrote down the name nonetheless. Robb stared pointedly at the tapestry on the wall. He had met Garrett once, and nearly gotten himself killed in the process. It was safe to say he wasn't a fan. Amina placed her hand over Robb's with a smirk.

"I believe that is the last of the appointments," Luwin told them, folding up his papers. "We'll continue the matters of taxes after supper?" Amina have her best impersonation of an enthusiastic nod, but as soon as the maester was out of the room, she dropped her head to Robb's shoulder.

"It's almost as if the days grow longer," she groaned. "Would that we had an endless supper instead."

Robb laughed. "I've seen how much you eat. If we had an endless supper, you'd grow larger than the King." Amina jabbed her finger between his ribs, causing him to jump. He chuckled again, and slipped his arm around her shoulder. It had been a long while since they were alone together, just the two of them. Almost always they had Theon or Jon along as well.

"You haven't gone to the Godswood since–"

"I haven't," Amina confirmed, cutting him off before he could speak the words. "It feels lonely now, even the birds are quiet."

"We could go tonight," he offered. "With candles like we used to." It had been there, under her favorite soldier pine, that she'd told Robb who her father was. He'd been the first one she'd run to, and he taken Amina straight to the Godswood, her favorite place. Robb knew all the right things to say, and he didn't mind her tears. But that was years ago, and so much had come between them since.

Before she was forced to reply, the doors to the hall opened, and Theon came in. "Had enough of playing Lord and Lady for today?" He called, joining them at the table.

"If only," Amina quipped, pushing herself from the bench and getting to her feet. "Are you off somewhere?"

"The whores and the alehouses are calling my name." Theon told Amina, tossing his arm over her shoulder, and swaying her back and forth. "And you look as if you could use a good fight. Ride with me?"

Amina ran her fingers across her knives. Since the attack on Bran and Catelyn, she'd taken to wearing a knife belt everywhere. "The Smoking Log is surely missing our coin," she reasoned. "And I _should_ offer Garrett his position in person." Amina pursed her lips. "Alright, I've been convinced."

Theon stepped away and grinned. "I'll ready the horses."

Amina turned back to Robb, and offered a hand. "Come with us."

He shook his head. "Someone has to go over taxes with Maester Luwin." Amina bit her lip, guilty that she was shirking responsibilities already. But she could use a night away from the castle, and an excuse to leave Robb's side. "Go. I'll tell Luwin you felt ill."

Amina put a hand on Robb's cheek and gave him a soft smile. "Sleep in tomorrow, and I'll do twice the work." He nodded, though she knew he wouldn't. Robb would be by her side, bright and early, just as he always was.

Before she could get out the door, he called after her. "Amina?" She turned, with a raised brow. "The Godswood?"

"Soon," she promised. In truth, Amina was afraid the trees were tainted by too many memories made bitter by the year's events. What's more, she heard the implication beneath Robb's request, and her heart had not yet healed enough to let him in.

In the yard, Theon waited with the horses. "You're good at this, you both are," he said when Amina joined him. She furrowed her brows. "The decisions, the delegating. Being Lord and Lady."

"I wish I could agree with you," she muttered, reaching for her destrier's reins.

"Give it time, you've only been at it for two moons," he reminded her. "In a year's time it will be easier, you won't need to give it a second thought."

"Gods be good, Ned and Cat will be home long before then." Amina mounted her horse, the grey-white mare she'd named Myst. "Now, please, can we have one night without talk of business?"

"What about conspiracies?"

Amina frowned. It had been conspiracies that had taken Catelyn away from Winterfell, all on the word of a grief-stricken woman. "Until Cat returns, there's no use speculating. We cannot know anything for certain, and if word spreads, we'll incite panic from here to King's Landing."

"My lady!" A servant called, as they neared the gates. Amina turned her horse to face the girl. "My lady, it's Bran." She took heavy, labored breaths. Clearly she'd just run halfway across the castle.

Amina's stomach filled with dread. "Is he..."

The servant girl smiled, "He's awake."


	8. Lyman I

**LYMAN**

 **I** t seemed that the entirety of Castle Darry had gathered in the great hall to gawk at the farce of a trial. The King himself had taken charge of the small holdfast while his party hunted down the Stark girl and her wolf. The members of oversized traveling party were unwelcome guests; the Darrys had once fought against the man after all. But there was nothing Raymun Darry could do but hope they would be gone shortly.

He'd even sent Lyman, his only son, to hunt down the girl the day before but he'd had no luck. In the end, it was one of Stark's own men who brought her in, yet somehow she'd ended up in front of the King and Queen all alone.

Lyman guided Sallei down the stairs, one hand holding hers, the other on the small of her back. "I may not be able to see my toes, but that does not make me an invalid," she grumbled, but still, she made no move to send her husband away. Her annoyance wasn't meant for him, it was meant for the royal family that was occupying their home.

"Now that they've found the girl, they should be gone soon," Lyman assured her. He rubbed Sallei's back, and she sighed.

Castle Darry was not built for hosting such a large party. Even if they had been given proper notice, which they hadn't, the staff would have struggled to cater to everyone. It did not help that the entire ordeal was ludicrous. Lyman had heard the eldest prince's story: the smallest Stark girl supposedly assaulted him, unprovoked, with the help of a commoner and a direwolf. Prince Joffrey had sniveled and whined his way through the story, and if Arya Stark had done as accused, Lyman couldn't find it in himself to blame her one bit.

Lyman helped Sallei to a seat near the front of the room, where she'd be able to watch the proceedings in comfort. She cast a scalding glace at the royal family occupying Lord Darry's high seat, before leaning back and using her swollen belly as an armrest. Pregnancy had only succeeded in making Sallei sour. Not for the first time, Lyman wished that they had taken her father up on the offer to stay at Seagard.

Eddard Stark burst through the doors of the hall looking stricken. He scooped up his crying daughter, and then started in on the King and his men for putting the poor girl in this situation. They heard the stories each child told, the girl's differing dramatically from the Prince's pitiful account.

Only the King's younger brother, Renly Baratheon, appeared to be enjoying the proceedings. He had arrived to meet the King a few days prior along with the Lord Commander and the King's Justice, as well as his own personal sword. Lyman knew little of the other knight, save that he was from the Reach. But now, as Renly joked at his nephew's expense, the knight looked as if he wanted to be anywhere but in that room. Lyman understood the feeling immensely.

It should have been a blessing when the ordeal finally came to an end, but the wailing of the two Stark girls made it impossible to feel relieved. One of their wolves would be put to death. Lyman had a brief wish that it was the spineless Prince facing the sword, before quickly remembering himself.

"I believe we've seen enough," he whispered in Sallei's ear. The two of them slipped into the corridor and walked until they could hear the girls crying no longer.

"That was horrid," Sallei said with a shudder. "And your father just _stood_ there!"

"He had little choice. Your father would have done no different, there is no arguing with a king," he told her levelly. "I'll just be glad to see them gone."

"Good riddance," she muttered. Sallei looked out the window for a moment, her blue-grey eyes unfocused. "Some of the Queen's ladies spoke of him, Ser Caswell," she said suddenly. Lyman leaned forward to look at the man; it was Renly's companion. "A tragic story really. He gave up his lordship to marry a commoner, only to have her die of a pox a few years later. Supposedly a favorite bard in Highgarden wrote a pretty song about it."

"You always did love the sad songs." Lyman put an arm around his wife's shoulder, and Sallei leaned into his chest. "Me? I prefer the bawdy ones."

She laughed. "Of course you do."


	9. Theon I

**THEON**

 **A** mina polished her knives carefully, one at a time, and replaced them in her knife belt. Then she did the same with the knives strapped to her saddle. Theon watched her, waiting for her to join the rest of the group. They were taking Bran out for his first ride since the fall. Tyrion Lannister had brought plans for an interesting saddle and the master of horse had spent the past weeks training a gelding to respond to the reins.

But Theon had bet Amina that he could bring down a bigger deer with his arrows than she could with her knives, and she was never one to back down from a challenge. "Thinking about what horrible favor you'll owe me after I beat you?" Amina asked, when she noticed him staring.

Theon laughed. "More like what you'll be owing me. Come on, everyone else has headed for the gate."

Amina shot him a look, but turned her mare around to face him. "Always so eager to lose." She gave the horse a kick and headed for the gate without a second look. Theon followed behind, paying closer attention to his friend than where he was going, and earning a kick from Myst when he pulled his courser too close.

The dark-haired girl watched Bran as if her force of will alone could protect him. Amina had always been intense, whether she was training in the yard or stealing rolls from the kitchen. But in the past months it had gotten worse. Occasionally there were moments when she was herself again, especially when Theon could convince her to accompany him to the Smoking Log, but those trips were few and far between. Even her weapons training had taken on an edge; there were no more smiles and jokes between bouts. She was training to kill.

"Have you spoken with Garret since he joined the guard?" Amina asked as the passed by the Winter town's alehouse. From her expression it was not the first thing she'd said to him.

Theon nodded. "Last night. If I tell you just how happy he is to have this job, you may reconsider the decision. It appears he's become quite popular with the ladies of the Smoking Log."

Amina smirked. "As long as they aren't _too_ much of a distraction." She glanced toward Robb at the front of the party. "Garret was the only appoint we disagreed upon."

"Garret was a good choice, don't second guess yourself."

Amina shot him a scalding look. "I am not. Garret was the _perfect_ choice." Theon laughed, and rode ahead, forcing her to pick up the pace. If anyone in Winterfell could badger Amina into acting like herself, it would be him.

"Are you coming?" He called, over his shoulder. "You have a bet to lose!"

* * *

Theon drew and arrow just as Amina reached for a knife. "I saw it before you," he hissed, earning another scalding look. They both watched the buck for a moment, neither loosing a weapon. "It's mine."

Amina rolled her eyes, but replaced the knife in her belt. Theon loosed an arrow, and Amina turned her horse in a dramatic circle, crashing through a bush and causing such a ruckus the buck immediately darted for the darkest part of the woods. Theon's arrow lodged in a tree trunk. Theon turned to snap at Amina but she had already disappeared deeper into the trees.

It was only a few moments before Theon spotted a turkey. Not quite the prize the buck would have been, but he would have to settle. He had just shot the bird down and tied it to his saddle when he heard Amina shout in the distance. He waved for the rest of the stragglers to follow him and rode through the forest toward the sound.

When he found Amina, she was off her horse and swinging a sword. The man she was fighting had a knife protruding from his shoulder, but it hardly slowed him down. Behind them, Robb was fighting a woman, while Summer and Grey Wind took on two more. The last had Bran, who'd been cut down from his saddle. "Call them off or I slit his throat."

Amina took the opportunity to stab her man through the gut, and he collapsed at her feet. She turned in Bran's direction, her hand hovering over her knife belt unsure whether or not she had the shot. Theon didn't give her the chance to decide, and loosed an arrow, hitting the man in the chest. A perfect shot. Amina dropped her sword and ran to Bran's side.

"A dead enemy is a thing of beauty," Theon announced with a grin.

Robb threw down his own sword and marched toward him, for a moment Theon thought Robb would actually grab him by the collar and shake him. "Jon always said you were an ass, Greyjoy. I ought to chain you up in the yard and let Bran take a few practice shots at _you_." Robb wasn't done, but the rest of his tirade fell on deaf ears.

Amina left Bran with Maester Luwin and went to reclaim her weapons. She pulled her bloody knife from the man's shoulder and cleaned it on her cape before returning it to her belt. She joined Theon on the edge of the clearing. "Thank you. It was a good shot." Theon nodded once, though his pride had been wiped away the moment Robb had started in on him.

That was the way it had always been. Robb Stark might claim to be his friend, but to him Theon would always be a Greyjoy. On the other hand, Amina knew what it was like to be on the outside. They could parade the girl through the North and pretend she was a Beldish Lady, but her blood would always mark her as _other_.

Even as Robb continued to mutter that Theon's arrows "could have killed Bran," and that he was "reckless, always so reckless," Amina slipped a gloved hand through his. The blood of the Night's Watch deserter she'd killed speckled her grey riding cape. They stood by the little creek, watching Robb and his men tend to Bran and question the surviving wildling woman. "Good shot with the knife," Theon told her. Amina's eyes flashed, vivid purple for a moment in the pale light. "You were alright with your sword too."

"Only alright?" She said, crossing her arms. "I killed him, didn't I?"

"I could have done the same in half as many strokes." She hummed disapprovingly. Theon shook his head, draping an arm around her shoulder. "But it was good enough."

"You're insufferable."

"But you wouldn't trade me for the world." Amina rolled her eyes but leaned into him. No matter what trouble they were getting into, it was always like this between them. Amina was the sister he'd always wanted. He had one back on the Iron Islands, but he hardly remembered Asha and couldn't imagine she would be any better than the one he'd chosen for himself. The daring little dragon girl, and the kraken lordling.

Amina eyed the dead wildlings they'd each taken down and looked up at him with a smirk. "I believe I win."

Theon looked at her a moment, before remembering their bet. "That isn't a deer."

She glanced toward the turkey thrown over his saddle and raised and eyebrow. "Neither is that."

* * *

Back inside the walls of Winterfell, Theon followed Amina to her rooms, still trying to weasel out whatever task she'd deem appropriate for her winnings. "I told you, I'll just have to save it for something _important_."

"Alright, alright, I volunteer to ride to the Wall and drag Jon back by his ear." What Theon had meant as a joke wiped Amina's smile from her face.

She turned her back and grabbed a large book off her desk. "I have matters to discuss with Maester Luwin. You should go do whatever it is you do when you aren't bothering me."

Theon caught Amina's wrist as she grabbed for another tome and spun her around. Her face was unreadable, though her eyes glimmered with what he suspected were unshed tears. "Ever since they left, you've acted as if nothing was worth your time. Not me, not Robb, even the boys seem like an obligation. Just because Cersei Lannister is an Ice Queen, doesn't mean _you_ have to follow her example. You can't be distraught over a bastard forever."

Amina recoiled as if he'd hit her and pulled her wrist from his grasp with such force they both stumbled backward. "Distraught?" She repeated. "Is that what you think of me, that I am a pampered princess who cannot endure heartbreak?" Amina scoffed. "I am not distraught, I am _terrified_."

Theon shook his head, not quite understanding. "Catelyn will be home soon, and surely this conspiracy with the Lannisters is just a misunderstanding. It will all be resolved and soon Lord Eddard will tell the King who you are. By this time next year you and Robb will be wed."

Amina let the book slip out of her hand, and it landed on her desk with a _thwack_. "I know you mean for that to be reassuring, but it is not. Whether or not the Lannisters plotted to murder Bran, or Jon Arryn, or both, Catelyn's conspiracy is not the only thing that could get our family killed."

Theon put his hands on Amina's arms, and she looked up at him. "Robert and Ned grew up together, he'd never–"

"You're right, they're friends. But a secret like this could tear even the best of friends apart. I am a threat to everything Robert has built. Perhaps he would look the other way, for Ned. But what about Tywin Lannister or the Queen? If the Lannisters are who we think they are, they will do whatever it takes to maintain their hold on the Crown. What happens to Ned and the girls then?" Amina shook her head. "I've gone over every scenario a thousand times, and almost every one ends with the people I love dead."

"If I were kinder I would leave, but I am not. I'm selfish. I can't leave the only family I've ever known. Where would I go, Beldain? The North believes that one day I'll rebuild Castle Corrigan and give it to my sons, but I won't. I can't set foot on that island and claim a birthright that doesn't belong to me. I will not live a lie forever. But the longer I lie the more terrifying the truth becomes."

Amina leaned against his chest and let him fold her into his arms. If there were a way to reassure her, Theon couldn't find it. She didn't cry, just stayed in his arms, breathing heavy as if she'd just fought a battle. "You don't have to be alone," he promised her. "Wherever you go, I'll go with you."


	10. Robb I

**ROBB**

 **"S** ansa is just a girl," Amina chided. She slipped the letter out of Robb's hand before he could ball it into a fist or throw it on the fire. She was quiet as she read; the only sound was Robb's own footsteps as he paced in his father's study. "Clearly the Queen had a hand in this. Your sister must be frightened, imagine the state King's Landing is in. None of us was prepared for a war, least of all Sansa."

Robb continued pacing. How Amina was keeping her head was beyond him. Perhaps it was just exhaustion, she'd been in the yard nearly all morning. More than a few Northern lords were skeptical of her joining them on the march, and she was only too eager to prove her skillset. "At least we have some news," she continued, flatting the letter out on the desk. "The King is dead, and Ned is accused of treason. It's more than we knew yesterday. I've had quite enough of the outlandish rumors from the south."

"Is this any less incredible?" Robb countered. The very idea of his father committing treason was unthinkable, and it had been just a few short months since King Robert had been within these very walls. "And what of Arya? Sansa makes no mention of her, not even a word."

Amina banged her fist on the table, loud enough that it startled Robb to a halt. "I am just as concerned about Arya as you, but we are a thousand leagues away. Fighting has already begun in the Riverlands. We are at war. Taking our frustrations out on a terrified child solves _nothing_."

Robb collapsed into his father's chair, and ran his fingers through his hair. "What do you propose we do?"

"What else can we do but persist?" Amina circled the desk and knelt before him. "You cannot be emotional. Not now. The worst decisions are made out of anger and fear. We will give the Riverlands our aid, and then we will decide what comes next."

Amina turned her hands over, and waited for Robb to take them. "These men do not know you. They do not know if you can win this war, or if they can trust your leadership. But you are a Stark and if anyone can win this war it is you." She stood up, and tugged his hands insistently. "Now come, I cannot go into great hall without you. If I have to listen to one more second son tell me what great plans he has to rebuild Castle Corrigan, I may actually throw myself into the moat."

Robb smiled softly, and gave Amina's hands a squeeze before rising to his feet. "Yesterday, Bran told me he was worried all the lords dim-witted. Why else would they parade their sons and daughters in front of you and I when it's obvious they stand no chance?"

"The boy may have a point. Which is rather unfortunate, all things considered."

Robb tucked a strand of hair, which had escaped from Amina's braid, behind her ear. "At least the ones who aren't trying to marry you are helping you train."

"Oh, no, some of those men are also trying to marry me, they just prefer a bit more fire in their women. But at least _they_ serve a purpose, I've become rather more confident with a sword these past weeks." Amina rolled her eyes, but he knew she was proud of it. For every fight she lost, she learned something new, and she _was_ improving. Robb thought that the busy castle had served to raise Amina's spirits as well, she smiled more than she had since Bran's fall, and she'd settled into their new routine. If Robb were feeling especially bold, he might even say she was settling into life with him as well. "If one more lord insinuates that I would be better suited to life behind these walls with my cross-stitch, he will return to his castle with a cross-stitch needle in his eye."

"It may be your best work yet," he teased. "I've seen your cross-stich, it's awful." Amina brought her foot down hard on his boot. "After your showing at supper last week, I doubt anyone could say you'd be better off with cross-stitch."

Amina huffed. "You all act as if I impaled the man. I threw my knife at a roast duck, some might call that helpful, it did need to be carved."

"Lord Hornwood nearly died from fright," Robb reprimanded.

"It's his own fault for allowing his soldiers to argue like common sellswords. I could hardly hear myself think. _Someone_ needed to shut them up."

"You've spent too much time at the Smoking Log."

Amina scoffed. "There is no such thing."

* * *

It had been a long day. The Karstarks had arrived, and with them the last of the twelve thousand men who would march south. Tomorrow they would all take their leave of Winterfell. In preparation, they had been up half the night in war council, yet sleep still eluded him. It was not nerves that kept Robb awake, though there were plenty of those as well. It was the look on Amina's face when he'd asked her to stay.

After supper she'd bid a goodnight to the lords, leaving them to their tactics and strategies. Though she was as good a fighter as any man, war was not something she had ever prepared for. But there were other things she knew better than any of them. Her mind was like a repository for stories, and Hoster Tully had told her plenty. Amina had been the only one willing to sit in his study and look at old maps and be regaled with stories from past wars and Gods knew what else.

It was easy to overlook the importance of history when the realm was falling into chaos around them. But each Lord had listened to Amina's descriptions of campaigns from Robert's Rebellion and beyond, some more willingly than others. A particular inspiration had been the story of Cregan Stark's Winter Wolves, who had taken down hosts much larger than themselves in the Dance of the Dragons.

Robb had always known Amina to be smart, she spent almost as much time with books as she did with weapons, though no one ever noticed that, if only because books made less noise. It had seemed only natural to ask for Amina's advice; she was riding south with them after all. But when Robb had suggested it, she had looked at him as if she were seeing him for the first time. Every so often, as she told her stories, she'd look over at him with glimmer in her eyes, like she could draw them both inside the story she was weaving. It was infectious.

There was a knock on his door, so quiet that it took him a moment to realize where the sound had come from. Then there was a louder knock, followed by Amina's soft voice calling his name. He crossed the room to let her in.

Amina stood in the doorway, her hair loose around her shoulders. She was wearing her nightdress with boots and a heavy cloak. In her hand she held a bedside candle. "I couldn't sleep."

"Neither could I," he admitted.

She was quiet for a moment. The wax dripped down the candle and onto the little metal plate. "Let's go to the Godswood." The words were hardly out of her mouth before he was grabbing his own cloak. A soft smile played on Amina's lips as she intertwined her fingers with his and pulled him into the hall. In that moment he would have followed her anywhere, but she took him to the Godswood, just as she'd said.

At the gate, Amina stopped, and Robb worried that she would change her mind. This was a step forward for her, he knew, even if she wouldn't admit it. She had run here with Jon, it was here that he'd caught them years ago, the reason he was cautions around her. She loved his brother, and he would always be her second choice.

She stepped through the gate, moving the candle before her to light the way. She drank in the trees like she was dying from thirst. Months she'd gone without the Godswood, and he knew how she felt about the trees. If not the Gods themselves, the trees were her home. She stopped in front of a solider pine. Amina's favorite, if he remembered correctly, it had been under this very tree she'd cried on his shoulder so many years ago and told him she was a dragon.

Robb sat and leaned against the pine, and Amina sat facing him with her knees folded under her. "Our last night in Winterfell," she whispered.

"We'll be home before you know it," he promised. Amina bit her lip. "It's all right to be scared. Gods know I am."

"Is it that obvious?" She asked.

"No, it isn't. You're better at this than I am, you always know the right thing to say. Helman Tallhart called you clever, Greatjon Umber says you're bold, Roose Bolton believes you to be calculating. Every lord thinks you're the embodiment of the thing they value most, even I'm not sure what you are and aren't anymore."

"I have no idea what I'm doing either," she admitted. "I'm just a better liar than you. I've learned to give people what they want, while polishing a knife behind my back. The best show is one in which you can't see the costumes."

Robb knew she had her secrets and plenty of reason for keeping them, but still. "Isn't it exhausting, to always be something you aren't?"

"It's the only way I know."

Robb took her hands and covered them with his. "You don't have to pretend with me."

Amina smiled softly, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Maybe not." After a moment she pulled her hands away and stretched. She leaned on one hand, across his legs, caging him in against the tree. They were so close Robb could feel her breath on his skin. With her free hand, Amina brushed the hair from his eyes.

"I wish you'd stay," he whispered.

Amina played with his hair, but she pursed her lips together and shook her head. "You know I won't. A ruler's place is among her people."

Robb sighed, but caught her hand in his and pressed it to his cheek. "I wish you'd stay," he repeated. "But I'm glad you'll be with me. You're the strongest person I know."

Amina looked at him, searching his eyes for something he couldn't guess. It was the same look she'd had when he asked her to stay in the war council. Robb held still, barely breathing. She leaned toward him, and slid her hand from his cheek to the back of his neck. He remained frozen; afraid if he closed the distance between them it would break the spell. Amina pressed her lips to his and lingered just for a moment, then she was gone and Robb was left with the ghost of a feeling.

Years had passed since Amina had last kissed him, and though it wasn't much, Robb hoped it was a sign. There would be time later to figure out what it meant. "We should go back," he whispered. "We have a long day ahead of us."


	11. Amina III

**AMINA**

 **S** he used another hairpin to fasten the note to the leather map. It was already covered with similar annotations in her own handwriting. Notes about natural advantages and disadvantages, nearby holdfasts and villages that could offer much needed supplies, and clearings in which they could make camp.

Amina may have weaseled her way into lessons with knives and swords, but never had she imagined she would march with an army. She was no war strategist, but that wouldn't stop her from helping in every way she could. Hoster Tully had taught her the maps when she was a child, and Amina remembered every story. She was determined to learn the rest of it, but it would have to be as they went.

Already she had picked up bits and pieces from the lords bannermen. Each of them had a unique perspective on the war and how Robb should lead the troops. While Amina couldn't advise from a military standpoint, she'd come to know each of the lords well. Greatjon Umber was fierce and fearless, the kind of man who ought to be on the front lines rallying the troops. Whereas Roose Bolton was secretive and cunning, he made Amina's skin crawl but she would trust him to devise a particularly nasty trap.

Those were the notes she gave Robb in private, when the lords had gone. He knew who she trusted and who she feared might turn craven and run, which man's soldiers spent too much time in their cups, and which were likely to steal from the stores. Amina was no mistress of whisperers but she knew how to blend in. Soldiers found her a good drinking companion, and she was always eager to spar even if she ended up face down in the mud more oft than not. Lords were impressed by her knowledge of history, but she'd grown up with boys and had a casual air about her that put them at ease. When men as transparent as windowpane surrounded her, Amina's job was easy.

Grey Wind sat his head on her knees and whined. Amina tried in vain to shoo him away. He looked up her with yellow eyes. "Oh, you're just as bad as Robb." She relented and scratched the wolf between the ears.

"Sometimes I think that wolf might _be_ Robb," Theon said from the doorway.

Amina smiled at Grey Wind. "You've heard too many of Old Nan's stories." She looked up at her friend and patted the empty spot beside her. "If you're looking for Robb, he's with his mother. Catelyn's just arrived from the Eyrie."

Theon joined her, looking over her maps. "I saw. The Blackfish is down with the men." She grinned. It had been too long since she'd seen Cat's uncle; his duties in the Vale kept him too busy to visit as often as they all would have liked. "He's the only one, Lysa kept the rest of her knights around her."

Amina let out a long sigh, though she'd feared as much. Other than Catelyn, it seemed to her as if all the Tullys worth had been confined to the older generations. "Gods be good we won't need them."

"No, you'll singlehandedly plot out the war for us," Theon teased. She gave him a shove, but then linked her arm through his. "Are you coming into camp tonight? Garrett's challenged one of Umber's men, it should be a good show."

"Perhaps, but I should speak with Cat first, and look for Brynden." Before she had a chance to do either of those things, the door opened again. Amina recognized the man immediately, and nearly leapt over the bench to get across the room. "Brynden!" She crashed into him, and hugged him tight as she could.

"That's _uncle_ Brynden to you," he replied, gruffly, but picked her up so her feet dangled above the ground. "You aren't so grown that you can forget that." Though he wasn't her uncle by any relation, he'd told her she ought to call him that if Robb and the girls were going to. He would have no tiny lady calling him Ser.

"I've missed you, uncle," she said with a grin. "Lysa may have kept all her other knights, but she let us have the best." Brynden laughed, and mussed her hair. For a moment, she felt like a girl again, the maps and battle plans left forgotten on the table. But only for a moment.

Robb and his mother emerged from the other room. Catelyn looked worried, but Amina thought she saw pride in her eyes as well. Robb motioned for the others to gather around the table. "We'll split the host below the Neck, the foot will continue down the Kingsroad and our horsemen can cross at the Twins." Amina pursed her lips, thinking of the stories she'd heard of Walder Frey's stubbornness, but he was still Hoster Tully's bannerman, surely he wouldn't be too much of a hindrance.

"Lord Tywin will march for our main host, leaving the riders free to hurry down to Riverrun," Robb continued.

"It's a risk to split our army with a river," Brynden warned. "But, we'd keep Jaime and Tywin separated as well. It just might be worth it." Robb nodded, as if he'd rehearsed this plan in his head a hundred times.

"Roose Bolton will command the foot." The Greatjon was far too easy to provoke, and Tywin would know that. It would be best to keep Lord Umber with them in that event that they met Jaime Lannister in the field.

"And we'll be with the riders," Amina finished. It was where Ned would be, and therefore Robb would want to be there too. As for her, she'd go wherever Robb went. "Catelyn, will you return to Winterfell?"

Catelyn sighed. "My father is dying and my brother is surrounded by foes. As much as I would love to return to Bran and Rickon, I must go to Riverrun."

"Call the bannermen back," Amina told Theon. "And tell Garrett you'll be missing his fight."

* * *

With each day they drew closer to the Twins, and with each day Amina grew more anxious. They had little choice but to cross the river, it would take twice as long to reach Riverrun should they need to keep their host together and take the Kingsroad, to say nothing of the Lannister army they would face along the way. But Jaime's army was tearing apart the Riverlands, Brynden's outriders brought back new tales every night. The army would take Riverrun in days, if not sooner. Edmure's host was no match for the Lannisters.

"Lord Frey would be a fool to stand in our way," Theon said with his usual confidence. Typically, Amina would take comfort in that, but today she was on edge.

"Walder Frey is an ancient man with a well placed castle, no siege would work here," Amina reminded them. "His men would just flee to the far tower and escape. We're at a disadvantage."

"Damn the man," Robb swore. "I'll pull the Twins down around his ears if I have to, we'll see how well he likes that!"

"You sound like a sulky boy, Robb," Catelyn said sharply. "A child sees an obstacle, and his first thought is to run around it or knock it down. A lord must learn that sometimes words can accomplish what swords cannot."

Robb looked away sheepishly, embarrassed to be berated by his mother in front of his friends. Amina and Catelyn shared a long look. "Give me a moment to change out of my riding clothes and brush my hair." This was what she was good at, learning what people desired and using that knowledge to get her way.

By the time the host reached the gates of the Twins, Amina was dressed in a gown with her hair pulled back like Catelyn's. She chose her dress carefully, too shabby and she would offend the prickly Lord Frey, too fanciful and she wouldn't be taken seriously. After months of dealing with Northern lords, Amina had honed the art. If the maesters had a link for clothing, she would surely have one forged.

A plank bridge slid across the moat, the portcullis was raised, and a small host of Freys rode out to meet them. The leader of the group introduced himself as Ser Stevron, Lord Walder's heir. "My lord father would be most honored if you would share meat and mead with him in the castle and explain your purpose here."

The lords bannermen did not appreciate the invitation and made their distrust of the Frey's known to Robb, much to Ser Stevron's discomfort. Amina smiled at the Frey. He was surely old enough to have grandchildren of his own, but relegated to second place until his lord father saw fit to die. It must be a tiring position. "Lady Catelyn and I will go," she offered. "As it appears we're the only ones with any grace."

Lord Manderly protested loudly, but Catelyn silenced him with a look. "Lord Walder is my father's bannerman, I have known him since I was a girl. He would never offer us any harm."

"I am certain my lord father would be pleased to speak to the Lady Catelyn and," Ser Stevron paused and looked to Amina.

"Lady Amina Corrigan," she supplied. Ser Stevron nodded. They left one of Lord Frey's other sons behind as an assurance of their good intentions. Amina gave Robb a smile over her shoulder as they rode toward the castle.

In the great hall, so many Freys greeted them that Amina felt she might have been shrunk down and thrown into some mouse hole. It didn't help that the Freys all had a weasely look about them. Lord Frey himself looked old enough to have lived in the age of Aegon's Conquest. Though, if he had, Aegon might have met his match in Walder Frey's stubbornness.

"What am I to do with you?" Lord Frey asked, looking between them. He narrowed his eyes at Amina. "I don't even know you."

"Lady Corrigan, father," Ser Stevron supplied.

"A Corrigan, _heh_?" The old man leered at her. "I haven't seen a Beldish wench in a generation at least. Let me get a look at you." Lord Frey didn't wait for her consent, just grabbed Amina's wrist and tugged her toward him. He eyed her closely for a moment and then let her go. "No, not as pretty as I remember. A shame."

Amina thanked the Gods that the North had given her a thick skin, elsewise this negotiation might have proved to be a challenge.

"We're here to ask you to open your gates, my lord," Catelyn continued, steering them back to their goal. "My sons and his lords bannermen are most anxious to cross the river and be on their way."

"You want to know why my men linger here, _heh_?" Lord Frey asked. "We meant to march to Riverrun – or my sons did, I'm well past marching – as soon as we amassed our strength. It isn't our fault your brother lost his battle before we could leave. Why should my sons be eager to march to their deaths I ask?"

"All the more reason for us to be on our way as soon as possible," Catelyn said, politely. "Is there anywhere we can talk?"

"We're talking now," he complained. Lord Frey glanced around the room at his brood. "Well, what are you waiting for? The ladies want to talk to me in private, _heh_." It took several minutes, and more prodding from Lord Frey, for the room to clear. "Now what do you want to say?"

"We want to cross," Amina told him.

He turned his attention on her. "That's bold of you. Why should I let you?"

"If you haven't noticed, there is a war outside your gates. No one is forcing you to fight it, but the Lannisters will come either way. They know no difference between those who are impartial and those who fight for the good of the Seven Kingdoms."

"Pretty words from a pretty mouth, but as I see it, Joffrey Baratheon sits the throne and you Northern lot are nothing but rebels."

Amina was undeterred. "Robert Baratheon was a rebel too. If you have so much disdain for us, why haven't you pledged your swords to Tywin Lannister?"

"Lord Tywin the proud and splendid, Warden of the West, Hand of the King. Him and his gold this and gold that and lions here and lions there. I'll wager you, he eats too many beans, he breaks wind just like me, but you'll never here _him_ admit it," Walder Frey ranted. "If Lord Tywin wants my help he can blood well _ask_ for it." And just like that, Amina knew they had won.

"We are asking for your help, my lord," Catelyn said humbly. "And my father and my brother and my lord husband and my sons are asking with our voices."

Lord Frey looked at them with little warmth. "The Tullys have always pissed on me, don't deny it, don't lie, you know it's true. Years ago I suggested a match between Edmure and my daughter. Why not? I had one in mind, but if he didn't warm to her there were plenty of others to choose from. But no, Lord Hoster gave me sweet words and excuses. But what I _wanted_ was to get rid of a daughter."

Amina and Catelyn waited patiently as he went on. Walder Frey talked a lot, and with every word made it well and clear what he wanted. "Lysa is near as bad. It was a year ago, I went to the city to see my sons ride in the tourney. I proposed she and Lord Arryn foster two of my grandsons at court but Jon Arryn wouldn't have them and I blame Lysa for that." He paused for breath. "You say you want to cross the river? Well you can't. Not unless I allow it, and why should I? The Tullys and the Starks have never been friends of mine." He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms looking pleased with himself.

"How old are your grandsons?" Amina asked after a moment. "The ones you meant to foster with Lysa."

Lord Frey took so long to answer Amina thought he might have died right there. "Eight. Or seven. One's one and one's the other."

"Oh, Bran is eight now too," Amina said, looking to Catelyn as if a thought was just occurring to her. "Winterfell must feel empty with the family in the south, perhaps the boys could be fostered there. Bran would enjoy the company."

Walder grunted, but nodded once. "Freys aren't meant for the North, too bloody cold. But it'll do them good, let 'em see how good they have it here." Amina had seen the squat, ugly castle the Frey's called home, inside and out. But if insulting Winterfell made Walder Frey more inclined to open his gates, so be it.

"Robb could use a squire," Catelyn suggested to Amina, as if they weren't haggling with Lord Frey. Amina nodded, and Cat turned back to Lord Frey. "Maybe you have a younger son who'd like the honor?" It was the kind of honor no one could refuse, and besides it wouldn't hurt for Robb to have more help. He had plenty of other things to worry about.

"It's about time Olyvar gets himself knighted, he's my nineteenth son, or is it eighteenth? I can never remember. Either way, he'd make a good squire." They all nodded, but it was clear they would need to give more to appease Lord Frey. "My youngest boy, Elmar, he'll need a wife when he's of age. Don't you have a girl or two running around, Lady Stark?"

"Sansa is betrothed to Joffrey Lannister. But Arya…" When Arya found out, she was going to be livid, but she wasn't here. Maybe she wasn't in King's Landing either. The thought filled Amina with dread. If Arya was dead or missing…But, either way, they had to make the deal, so Amina kept her mouth shut while Catelyn agreed to the match.

Walder Frey looked pleased with this development, but he eyed Amina curiously. "I don't suppose you're looking for a husband, Lady Corrigan."

Amina smiled politely. "I'm not a Stark," she reminded him. "And I have no castle, only burnt land." Walder Frey grunted but didn't press the matter.

"Are we settled then?" Catelyn asked. "We'll foster your grandsons, take your son as a squire, and marry Arya to Elmar, and you'll allow us to cross your bridge."

Lord Frey nodded slowly. "One last thing," he said. "Your boy, the eldest, I want him to marry one of my daughters."

In a very uncharacteristic expression of emotion, Amina choked as if she'd swallowed a rabbit whole. Walder Frey hardly gave her a second look; he was looking so intently at Catelyn, waiting to call her bluff. Amina had the sudden urge to leave the castle, fetch Myst, and take Robb to Beldain. Curse the Corrigans and curse the war, the ghosts and the Lannisters would just have to move on. The Gods had taken too much, Robb was _hers_.

"He can choose whichever one he wants, I've got skinny ones and fat ones, virgins and widows. Roslin's a pretty one, he might like her."

Amina took a long slow breath through her nose. She was behaving like a child, seeing problems as something to crash through or run from, just as Cat had chided Robb for. There were ways out of betrothals, and when the war was won they'd have more than enough time to get around it. But at present they had no time to circumnavigate anything. They needed a way across the bridge _now_. Promises were just words, after all, and words were wind. "I suppose we have a deal."


	12. Aylward I

**AYLWARD**

 **H** e hadn't realized how much he missed Highgarden until Renly's party had passed through the gates. They'd been in King's Landing far too long. The colors and the smells and flowers brought back memories of better days. Aylward Caswell had spent more time here than he ever had at Bitterbridge, or perhaps it only felt that way. At the least, he'd made better memories in Highgarden than he ever had in his father's home.

This wedding feast ought to have been one of them. It was extravagant in a way only the Tyrells could be, with guests from every house small and large from the Arbor to Shipbreaker's Bay. But Renly had been too busy fielding congratulations on his marriage, and shouting his own praises to anyone who would listen, to pay much mind to anyone but himself.

The other knights in Renly's personal guard were dancing, or stuffing themselves on fancy dishes, or had disappeared with some Lady's handmaiden to a distant bedchamber. Aylward looked across the room searching for a familiar face. He found Lady Margaery in the midst of the crowd. _Queen_ Margaery now, he would have to remember. Aylward had practically watched the girl grow up, and now she was his queen.

At the moment, she did not look particularly regal. Some minor lordling whom Aylward did not recognize had her in his arms, and nearly dragged the Queen across the room in his drunken attempts at a dance. The lordling stumbled, letting Margaery go for a moment, and Aylward took the opportunity to slip between them. "Forgive me, my lord. May I cut in?"

Margaery flashed him a grateful smile, and they spun away from the lordling before he could protest. It seemed that Aylward was always rescuing the young Tyrell from one thing or another; a dance partner insistent on stepping on her toes, a dreadfully boring conversation with an elderly lord from a vassal house, even Loras and Renly's own joking that often got out of hand.

"Are you enjoying yourself, your grace?" He asked, remembering the proper honorific. They shared a smile, a silent joke between two people who had known each other for ages and suddenly had their world turned upside down. "Highgarden certainly knows how to host a celebration."

Margaery nodded, though he thought her smile seemed a bit strained. He had attended plenty of these gatherings, though they'd grown less desirable over the years. He had little interest in forced courtesies and unneeded extravagance, but with Renly as a friend, he'd grown accustomed to it. "If you ever need anything, you can ask me," he reminded her, voice low enough they couldn't be heard over the music and laughter.

"They're all staring at me," she whispered.

Aylward knew the feeling well, though the eyes on him were always filled with pity, not the admiration or lust that came with being a Lady of House Tyrell. "I would think by now you'd become used to their stares."

"It isn't the same. I'm their Queen," Margaery said, as if he needed reminding. "I didn't ask for this crown _or_ the responsibilities that came with it. No one asked me if I wanted it." She broke off, and again Aylward just how young she was. She was just a girl who always had a smile for everyone and flowers in her hair. But this was their world; this was what it meant to be a lady of a great house. "How do I do this?"

"The same way you do everything else, with grace." He had never been good with comforting words, and his skill at building morale came only on the battlefield. But he had no doubt that Margaery would be a great Queen, perhaps a better Queen than Renly would be King. "Believe in yourself, your grace. I do."

* * *

Aylward had expected they would depart shortly following the wedding celebrations, if not the very next day. Renly, however, seemed content to dally as if Highgarden was his own royal pleasure palace and there wasn't a war to wage half a continent away. But after several years in King's Landing, in Renly's personal guard, Aylward had grown used to his new king's taste for luxury.

That wasn't to say Aylward disapproved, for it wasn't his place to judge. He merely found himself rather bored in Renly's company. The King was a great conversationalist if you liked court gossip and making mockery of the royal family. However, Aylward's interests lay in military strategy and histories. But still, they found common ground through their Tyrell friends, and Aylward had been honored to take a top spot amongst Renly's guard.

Though he missed Highgarden and the friends he made there, the position had been too good to pass up. Serving the King's brother was more than a disowned knight from a vassal house could to aspire to, save from an appointment to the Kingsguard. Besides, the capital was further away from his former home. In the Red Keep, he was safe from unpleasant reminders. It had been a good life, if a bit unfulfilling. But with Renly's coronation, life had become more uncertain.

"A King must have a guard of the highest caliber," Renly addressed the small gathering. He had a way of speaking in a haughty tone when he thought he'd had an especially good idea. When they were younger, Garlan and Aylward had teased him for it. "But _Kingsguard_ is overused." He waved forward servants who carried new cloaks in an array of colors. From what Aylward could see, they looked expertly made, more like court clothing that battle garb. "You men are among the finest knights in Westeros, and have served me faithfully for years. I hope you will all accept these cloaks and a position in my Rainbow Guard."

Cloaks were distributed and vows were taken. Loras Tyrell was unsurprisingly named Lord Commander. He took his vows first, followed by Ser Guyard Morrigen, deemed Guyard the Green. Then Ser Emmon Cuy the Yellow, and Ser Parmen Crane the Purple. Aylward took his vows last, and accepted the titled Aylward the Orange.

The remaining two cloaks would be held in reserve. For now, five knights were enough. It wasn't as if they intended to fight battles any time soon. There were still troops to gather and plans to make, and a continent to cross before they reached the walls of King's Landing. The rainbow cloaks, despite their gaudiness, drew them together. Aylward felt as if these men were united in common cause. Even with insurmountable odds before them, they were eager to pledge their lives to their new King. Together they could do the impossible, as Robert had done before them, and unseat a King.


	13. Robb II

**ROBB**

 **A** mina walked with Smalljon Umber and several of his men. One of them whispered in her ear and she laughed, an infectious sound that cut off the moment she noticed Robb watching her. "I was asking about the battle," she told him, with a soft smile. She'd wrapped herself in someone's cloak, as if she were cold, but the fabric bulged in all the wrong places. Even if Robb hadn't noticed the way she curved her arm to make her shield appear as part of her body, or the sword hilt that jabbed tellingly from her hip, he would have known.

Robb had seen her. Amina was eye-catching; a man would have to be blind to miss her. Even in the midst of battle, disguised in mismatched armor, with her hair pulled back and hidden under a half-helm, he had seen her. Robb had nearly missed his chance to capture Jaime Lannister because he could hardly look away. Not out of fear for her, but out of awe. Amina was a Northerner, it was clear, all stone and ice. She fought with a strength her frame seemed too small to possess.

He held out a hand to her, as the Umbers dropped away to their own tents. "Come and I'll tell you about capturing Jaime Lannister." She smiled, but dodged his hand, surely if he got that close he'd notice her hidden armor.

"Sounds heroic," she teased. "Let me find a proper blanket and I'll come by your tent in a moment." Amina walked away, flipping the red cloak with the Umber's chained sigil around as she went. No, he wouldn't tell her that he knew. He'd let her believe she had another secret. It was a wonder the weight of her secrets didn't bury her alive.

When Amina did finally make it to his tent, she was dressed in a gown that seemed too delicate for a war camp. She had a large fur blanket wound around her shoulders, and she dropped onto his bed with a thump. "Now, what's this about Jaime Lannister?" She said it as if word hadn't spread through camp hours ago. Amina had always been an excellent liar, but this was only a jest.

Robb shook his head with a soft smile. "I'm sure you heard about it from the Umbers already." She shrugged one shoulder, but didn't deny it. Whispering Wood had been a victory. There'd been loses, most notably Lord Karstark's eldest sons, but he couldn't think about that anymore. If he dwelled on it, he would only drag himself down. "Enough about war, that's all we ever talk about."

"We _are_ on the front lines," she reminded him. "It's rather hard to avoid the subject."

"I can think of a few distractions." The battle had emboldened him, and Robb leaned toward Amina, pressing his lips to hers. Despite her clean clothes, he could still smell battle on her skin, the tang of metal and blood and sweat. It only made him want her more.

Amina pushed him back with a raised eyebrow. "Need I remind you of your betrothal?"

"When the war is over, we'll give the Freys something else." When Catelyn and Amina had returned from the Twins with a marriage pact – among other things – he'd been angry. It had been a poorly kept secret that his father planned to tell the King where Amina came from, and then she and Robb would be wed. Their children would have married Robert's grandchildren, giving his line more Targaryen blood to strengthen his claim. But Robert was gone, and Eddard Stark was a prisoner.

"Edmure?" Amina asked with an amused smirk. She'd never gotten along with his uncle. "Old Walder Frey will love that. He complained endlessly that Hoster refused to even _consider_ a match between Edmure and one of his girls."

Robb gave Amina's arm a tug and pulled her down next to him. She stretched out on the bed, her head resting on his chest. Robb watched her for a while. It was rare to see her like this, so at peace. He could almost imagine they were safe at Winterfell, the war was over and they were home. But the spell couldn't last forever. "Amina? What happened?" Her whole body froze, but she didn't speak. "What happened to us? When we were children, we were best friends."

With an exasperated sigh, Amina rolled away from him and pushed herself up on her elbows. "We still are."

Robb shook his head, ignoring her pointed look. "But, things have changed. There used to be a time when our wedding day was what you talked about in the Godswood. Then one day you stopped. Believe me, I know you never felt for me as I did for you, but you used to care."

Amina's eyes flashed lilac; sharp and sparkling like a bolt of lightning. He'd made her angry, but he had her in a corner and he couldn't back down. Maybe she'd tell the truth for once. "Of all the things you could accuse me of, you think I _don't care_?"

That hadn't been exactly what he meant. He knew she cared, but about his family and about him, but not about _them_. "You used to talk to me, Amina. Remember when Ned told you–"

"Of course I remember," she snapped. "I used to be _able_ to talk to you. You used to treat me like–" She broke off and turned toward the pillow, staring intently at the embroidery.

Robb caught her chin in his hand and turned her face back toward him. Whatever she'd been about to say, it wasn't the secret he wanted to hear. "If I ever did anything to push you away, I'm sorry."

"You never did anything wrong." The way she said it made it clear there were things he hadn't done right either. "It isn't you. Any girl would be lucky to be loved by you. _I'm_ lucky, it's just that I–"

 _Say it,_ Robb wanted to yell _. Just say you love him._

"I was worried Ned was wrong, that Robert wouldn't understand. I wasn't worried about myself; I always knew I might have to run. But what would happen to the rest of you when I was gone?" She said it so convincingly Robb almost believed it. And maybe it was true, but there was more. He knew there was more.

But her shoulder's slumped, and tears welled up in her eyes. Robb couldn't recall the last time he'd seen Amina truly cry, her tears had always been saved for Catelyn when she wanted to get her way. But this was not a show. "I'm sorry I said you didn't care. I know you do." Robb pulled Amina to his chest. She pressed her forehead against him, and wrapped her arms around his neck. "What I meant is–" Robb stopped himself. He'd pushed her far enough for one night. He could try again tomorrow. _Or never_. If she said it, it would all be over. And Robb couldn't lose her just yet; he'd lost too much already.


	14. Amina IV

**AMINA**

 **R** obb was in the woods, crumbled against a tree that bore at least a dozen slashes. His head buried in the crook of his elbow, and he looked up as Amina approached. She stepped over his ruined sword and sat beside him. "Are you all right?"

"No," Robb said, his voice barely a whisper. They received word from King's Landing just hours ago: Ned had been executed by order of Joffrey Baratheon. No one in camp knew how to take the news, some were angry, while others were distraught. When Robb had disappeared into the woods, Amina had felt somewhere in between.

"Neither am I." Amina pulled him toward her, resting his head on her shoulder. Ned had been the closest thing to a father she'd ever had. He'd protected her, when a lesser man might have slit her throat. He'd raised her and taught her everything she knew. Now he was gone. "I wish we could go back to the way things were before. I want our family together, I want to go home."

"It's my fault," Robb said quietly. "If I hadn't marched us south, the Lannisters might have let him go. We might be home, safe, not worried about what dark news will come tomorrow. What if Sansa is next?"

Her anger flared, making her cheeks flush. It wasn't fair that Robb had lost his father, that Catelyn lost her husband. Whatever lies the Queen and her Lannister family spread, they all knew: Eddard Stark had done nothing wrong. The only person to blame for Ned's death had golden hair and a fierce grasp on the throne. "You can't blame yourself, you had no choice. War was coming whether we fought or not. If we'd stayed in Winterfell, Tywin Lannister would have destroyed the Riverlands, and when he was done they may have still killed your father."

"And Sansa will not be next," Amina promised. "We will end this, _you_ will end this." She wished there were more words she could say, but nothing could ease this pain. So instead she just held him, and hoped it would help them both.

After a long while, Robb pulled away and looked at her. They both had red-rimmed eyes, and puffy cheeks. "There are times I wish you were in Winterfell, safe. But there are others when I know that I wouldn't survive this if you weren't with me."

Amina put her hands on his cheeks, and ensured he was looking into her eyes. "I will always be with you. Always." She believed it, and not only that, she wanted it. She wanted to end this war and return to Winterfell with him, to find some other way to appease the Freys and keep Robb to herself. Though a part of her would always mourn the life she could have had with Jon, she knew it was gone. Robb was more than a second choice, and with time Amina would grow to love him the way Catelyn had Ned.

She kissed him, softly, and then pulled away. "The men are ready to ride for Riverrun. I'll tell them you need a bit more time."

* * *

The great hall of Riverrun felt overbearing. The lords and ladies of the North and the Riverlands argued and debated, but their voices had grown muffled. Amina wanted nothing more than to return to her chambers and cry herself to sleep. Ned was gone, and Hoster Tully would be the next to die, and the only thing this bloody room cared about was which King they should support.

She was sure Catelyn felt the same, but they'd been seated at opposite ends of the table. For appearances sake, Amina couldn't even hold Robb's hand. She tried to listen, to learn the names and faces of the Riverlords, to be useful. Renly Baratheon had crowned himself king, much to the surprise of the realm. There'd been no word from Stannis yet.

Not that Amina wanted to support either Baratheon. Renly had no right to the throne and Stannis was nothing special if the talk was to be believed. But on the other hand, there was Joffrey, Robert's son, the true King. At Winterfell, the boy had been entitled and rude, and in the months since had proved to be more like the Mad King come again than his father's son. There was no good choice.

"Why not peace?" Catelyn asked.

The lords looked toward her, and Robb shook his head as he unsheathed his sword and laid it on the table. "My lady, they murdered my lord father, your husband. This is the only peace I have for Lannisters."

Amina had to agree. This war would not end just because they willed it so. There was too much pain now; the realm could never be as it had been. "Could Ned have made peace with Aerys after Brandon and Rickard's deaths?" Amina asked, speaking for the first time. "Even if we bent the knee, this distrust and anger and bitterness will not go away. Why make peace today if we have to pick up our swords again tomorrow?" Brynden voiced his agreement and many other lords followed.

"Then what would you do?" Catelyn asked her. The look in her eyes made Amina sit quietly for a moment, to think about her answer. If she were more than just a Corrigan, if she was the Princess she'd been born to be, what _would_ she do?

"I would not bow to a Lannister," Amina stated. "Baratheon or not, Joffrey is his mother's son, and the Lannisters cannot be trusted or forgiven. They must face justice."

"I agree," Lyman Darry spoke up. He was Lord Darry now that his father had died fighting the Lannisters. He had a newborn son and a humble castle, a life he wanted to protect, things worth fighting for. "Whether we win or lose, we have no choice but to fight. To bow to the Lannisters is to spit on the graves of those they have killed."

"Would you bow to Renly?" Robb asked, looking at Amina. He waited for her answer like his own decision would hinge on hers, like they were the only people in the room. She thought again of Beldain, of running away and taking Robb with her. But nowhere was safe, nowhere was far enough to escape the Lannister threat. Like Lord Darry, Amina had things she wished to fight for as well.

"No, I would not. Nor Stannis, neither." Amina drew one of her knives and looked at herself in the reflection on the blade. "We are Northerners. We are made of ice. When has winter ever stopped for anyone?"

Greatjon Umber banged his fist on the table so loudly every head snapped in his direction. "Lady Corrigan is right. What do Southorn kings know of the Wall or the wolfswood or the barrows of the First Men? Even their _gods_ are wrong." The man unsheathed his greatsword. "Why shouldn't we rule ourselves again? It was the dragons we married, and the dragons are all dead!" Lord Umber pointed the sword at Robb. " _There_ sits the only king I mean to bow _my_ knee to, m'lords. The King in the North!"

Lord Umber knelt and placed his sword at Robb's feet, Lord Karstark followed, then Maege Mormont. Even the Riverlords joined in. Lyman Darry and Jason Mallister, the ever-feuding Blackwoods and Brackens.

Amina looked at Robb and she was sure there was dragonfire in her eyes, the kind that could burn down kingdoms and forge new ones in their place. Amina turned her knife toward the table and thrust it down so it stuck up out of the wood. She smiled and added her voice to all the others, "The King in the North!"


	15. Jaime I

**JAIME**

 **N** ine days had passed since he'd been thrown into the cells of Riverrun. At least he thought it had been nine days. He lost count after the first night. Jaime was almost certain they were bringing his meals at odd hours to disorient him. But still, all things considered, he was fine.

War was tedious; this was a well-deserved break. He would be back on his horse fighting soon enough. His father would ransom him for the Stark girls any day now, and he would be back between Cersei's legs where he belonged.

At least, that is what Jaime wanted to believe. But one could only imagine fantasies of returning to King's Landing and a hero's welcome for so long before they began to crumple. In truth, Tywin Lannister was too smart and too stubborn to trade his Stark hostages for his son, even if Jaime was his _favorite_ son.

When the door cracked open, he expected to see his gaoler bringing a meal of stale bread and thin broth. Instead it was a girl. Though she did have a bowl in one hand, and a cup of in the other. "What, no bread?"

The raven-haired girl looked down at the bowl, then back at him with a raised eyebrow. "This is better than you deserve. The cells of Riverrun spoil their prisoners." She offered him the bowl and cup. Jaime reached, but the chains were short and she was just out of reach. He suspected she knew that.

She smirked, and her eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief. That was when he realized whom he was dealing with. "Ah, if it isn't the Queen in the North herself." Amina shook her head. The last time Jaime had seen her, she was dressed in a fine gown and hanging onto his arm. They'd traded japes about King Robert. She even made him laugh. He did not feel much like laughing at the present. "I forget, have you married him yet? I suppose not, otherwise you'd have a pretty little crown." She made a gesture that suggested she would have crossed her arms if her hands weren't full. "Now I remember. You aren't betrothed to him, because you aren't anyone. Isn't that right?"

To Amina's credit, she didn't so much as squirm. _Impressive_ , Jaime thought, _either she doesn't know, or she's just a very good liar._ Hisbet was on the latter. "Do you want to eat or not?" She asked, waving the bowl and looking bored.

"By all means…" Amina took a half step closer, just enough to let him take the bowl and cup from her hands. As soon as her hands were free, she stepped back out of reach and crossed her arms with a frown. "I do wonder though, what was Eddard Stark planning to do with you? He was too honorable to ship you off as some liege lord's bride. No, that wouldn't be fitting for a princess, not even a _exiled_ princess."

Her eyes flashed vivid lilac for the briefest moment. Amina rolled her shoulders back, with a look of defiance, but she was silent. "But the heir to the North is a much more suitable match. Though, if you ask me, Robb Stark is still far below your station. Perhaps a _second_ daughter could settle for the North, but-"

"But, I didn't ask you," she said.

Jaime's words died on his lips. He smirked instead. "No, I suppose you didn't." He lifted the bowl to his lips and took a sip. The broth had grown tepid, but it was chilly soup or hunger, and he needed his strength. "Ah, well, love is such a precious thing, and it's clear the Young Wolf adores you. I would wager a wedding is on the horizon, though how he'll explain it to his lords, I don't know."

"Even if I wanted to be wed in the midst of war, he's betrothed to another," Amina said flatly. "And what would you know of love?"

"More than you might think, little queen." She raised an eyebrow but kept her lips pressed together. She must think very little of him if she believed his heart so cold he was incapable of love. How far they had fallen since Winterfell's great hall. "You must not love him, elsewise you'd be rushing to crown yourself." He hummed, thinking. "There must be another. But who? Not the Greyjoy boy, he inherited his father's charms. You wouldn't be the type to fall for some commoner or lesser lord, no. That only leaves the bastard, noble-blooded _and_ mysterious." She squared her jaw and Jaime laughed. "Right on the first guess!"

"This was pointless," the princess muttered, she started for the door.

"A thousand men would die for the chance to wed a dragon, even now," Jaime said. Amina stopped in her tracks, turning slowly. "Kings are springing up left and right, wouldn't it be interesting if there was a Queen?"

There was a question on her lips. It was obvious Amina wanted to ask how he knew so much, but she would never speak the words. Robert hadn't known, Eddard was smart enough to keep that piece of information to himself. Jaime supposed there was a plan to reveal her to the crown eventually, along with a promise she'd marry into the North and never threaten Robert's rule. It couldn't even be said for certain that Tywin Lannister knew. Jaime certainly hadn't told him, and there weren't many others alive who knew of the girl. But Jaime had been in King's Landing when Aerys summoned his infant daughter. The Mad King thought together they would be reborn amongst fire as dragons. Jaime had put a stop to that.

"You aren't the only one, you know," Jaime said. She froze, in the low lighting of the cell her eyes looked dark as a stormy sky. Amina looked at him for a long moment, and then finally she whirled around and disappeared through the door as quickly as she came.

The monotony resumed. Jaime expected Amina's curiosity would draw her back, but day after day went by – at least he thought they were days – and she never returned.


	16. Lyman II

**LYMAN**

 **M** ore than two moons had past since Raymun Darry had died fighting the Lannisters. It had been a battle he hadn't meant to be in. He had gone to King's Landing to demand justice for the towns in the Riverlands, pillaged by Gregor Clegane. But there'd been no justice, only a group of Robert's men sent by Eddard Stark to kill the Mountain. Raymun had joined them, and died at the hands of the man he'd set out kill.

In those months since, Lyman had assumed his father's title, but had only just returned to Castle Darry a fortnight ago. It seemed so empty now, devoid of his father's humor and surrounded by burned villages. But still, he was glad to be home.

It wasn't all bad, Sallei had given birth to a boy. She'd named him Willem after Raymun's uncle, once master-of-arms at the Red Keep. It was Willem and Sallei who kept Lyman sane. To face insurmountable odds without loved ones by your side was not a life he envied.

"What are you looking at?" Sallei asked, joining him at the window. From there, he could see nearly all the Darry lands. The rolling green hills were so familiar to him, and though the holdings were small, he loved every inch.

"Everything," he said, shaking his head. "How ever little of it we have left." The nearest village had been burned and rebuilt, and the castle had been taken and reclaimed. Many of his smallfolk had died, or relocated. But he was determined to rebuild what they had lost. These lands were his son's future.

"Amos says the farmers are preparing to plant the spring crops," Sallei offered. As soon as the castle had been reclaimed, Lyman had sent his knights into the surrounding villages. Ser Amos Trane had a small knightly castle, on a piece of good farming land. His holdings supplied much of the closest village as well as Castle Darry. "And Ser Spirre is supervising the rebuildings."

Lyman nodded absently, though both pieces of news were welcome. It seemed as if there was too much to do, too many people looking to him for assistance. He wondered how his father had balanced it all.

Sallei looped her arm through Lyman's and pressed her forehead against his shoulder. "You shouldn't worry so much, my love," she murmured. "We will survive this war. When Robb Stark wins you may even receive some of those lands your family lost before." Lyman huffed. It found that unlikely, but it was only because he lived in an age where the Darry lands had been chipped a way bit by bit. Wars had come and gone, and it seemed that House Darry had the misfortune of always choosing the losing side.

He was considering what lands they might hope to regain when he noticed the smoke on the horizon. After months of fighting battles with the Northmen, he would recognize the black smoke anywhere. The village was burning. Again. "Sallei, get Willem. Have Jared take both of you to the cellar." She looked from Lyman, to the smoke, and back. Her eyes were more angry than scared. She nodded once.

Lyman headed for the ramparts, but was cut off by Ser Hosteen Bryne, commander of the household guard. "You must join your family in the cellar, my lord," the knight advised.

"I will not run," Lyman told him. "We cannot lose this castle."

"I'm afraid we must," Ser Bryne told him. "We are short on men, and the ones we do have are injured and exhausted. They cannot stand another battle, they will fall, and you must not be here when they do." Lyman opened his mouth to argue, but Hosteen cut him off. "I served your father for many years, I pride myself in keeping him alive for most of them. Had I been with him at Mummer's Ford, it would have been me fell, not him. Now, it is my duty to keep _you_ alive, Lyman. You must let me."

Lyman looked at the man for a moment, considering his options. Ser Bryne was correct. They lacked the manpower to successfully hold back the raiders. The Mountain's men were well rested, well fed, and well armored. With the state of his villages, the Darry men were none of those things. "They will die, holding these walls," he realized.

"But they will live long enough to see your family to safety," Bryne told him. "That is their duty. One day you will return, you will reclaim this castle and your lands. You will raise House Darry up with the King's men at your side. But you can only do those things if you are alive. Your son needs a father, Lyman. Go."

Though he was reluctant to abandon his men, his castle, his father's legacy, Lyman knew he had little choice. One day the war would end, and only then would Lyman be able to find peace. He nodded once, and allowed the knight to lead him to the cellar.

Sallei was already waiting there. She had Willem clutched to her breast, bouncing him and whispering soothing words into his ear. Two guards, Jared and Theo, flanked her. "You should have left without me," Lyman chastised. Sallei shot him a look.

"They've breached the walls!" Someone shouted from above.

"You must go, _now_ ," Hosteen commanded. Jared and Theo went for the barrels hiding the tunnel. It had been built many years ago, during the Dance of the Dragons, not as an escape but as a way to covertly send messages. The Darrys had supported the Blacks, though the Tullys had backed the Greens. The tunnel had been built so Lord Darry could hold covert meetings with Black soldiers. In the end, their efforts had not mattered. They were found out. The Greens prevailed, and the Tullys gifted much of the Darry holdings to more loyal Lords.

Jared took Willem from Sallei's arms and ushered her into the tunnel, he followed behind with the infant. Lyman waited until they were out of sight before turning back to Ser Bryne. He could hear the footsteps above, heavy and commanding. There were shouts, then screams. "He will find us," Lyman said. "I will stay and fight with you. Jared will get Sallei to her father."

"You will not," Hosteen told him. "I can hold him back long enough for you to escape, but only if you go now. He must not find the tunnel."

Lyman looked at the knight for a long moment. Ser Bryne had served House Darry near as long as Lyman could remember. He had once been beloved by every lady in the household, but now he was an old man. Though Hosteen's skills with a sword had never waned, he did not have the strength he once possessed. He would stand no chance against the Mountain. Lyman pulled the man into a hug, and then nodded. "May the Stranger protect you."

Ser Bryne nodded once, and then drew his sword. Theo ushered Lyman into the tunnel, and followed behind him. The barrels had barely scraped back into place when the door was kicked open. Lyman lingered for a moment, listening to the sound of steel against steel. Theo pushed Lyman on, and after a moment, he began crawling into the blackness.

For a while, the sound of sword fighting could be heard. Then it stopped. The silence that followed was worse.

* * *

Lyman emerged in the ruins of a fortress, on a hill, a short distance from Castle Darry. The black smoke rising from the village was thicker now. Sallei nearly tackled him as soon as he was on his feet. "I was so worried you'd stayed behind."

"No," he whispered. "But Ser Bryne did." Sallei paled. Lyman took in the small gathering on the hill. Several knights, a few women. "I came as soon as I saw the smoke," Ser Trane said, shaking his head. It appeared he'd brought every man from his keep, and the women too. Maybe forty bodies in total. "That's it then, isn't it? We've lost."

"The village is burned," Ser Spirre confirmed. "I barely escaped with who I could find. Many of the villagers scattered, but the Mountain's men were chasing them down. It's unlikely we'll see many of them again."

Lyman shook his head. He turned toward his guardsmen. "Escort my wife and son to Seagard, take a few men with you, and all the women. Lord Mallister will protect them until such a time we can return."

Sallei looked none to pleased with the idea. "And where will you go?"

"To Riverrun," he said with a sigh. "This war is not done with me, and King Robb is the only hope we have left." Sallei rolled back her shoulders. To anyone else she surely looked proud and determined. She was exactly the sort of woman Jason Mallister had raised. But Lyman could see the tears in her eyes. He pulled her into his arms and pressed a kiss to her temple. "We will see each other again, my love, I swear it." Then he let her go, and the two parties went their separate ways.


	17. Theon II

**THEON**

 **H** e watched Amina adjust Robb's crown with a soft smile on her face. The new king had shifted it back and forth half a dozen times, searching in vain for the most comfortable way to wear it. Amina must have had the magic touch, for Robb didn't move it again until the show was over and the crown was sent back to his chambers. "Should I remind you that he's to marry a Frey girl?" Theon whispered in Amina's ear later, when Cleos Frey had been dispatched with Robb's peace offer and the great hall was empty.

"No need, I arranged the match myself," she bristled. "Besides, betrothals have been broken before."

"Not without consequences."

"There was a time in which you all but dragged me to Robb's side, and now you wish to scare me away," she muttered. "I do wish you would make up your mind."

"You know I'm only looking out for you."

"If you were worried about me, you wouldn't be setting off to Pyke and leaving me behind," she snapped, with more than a little venom in her words. They both looked at each other for a moment. Finally, Amina sighed. "I don't want to fight. Not when you're leaving so soon. I just wish you weren't going."

"I'm the only one who can treat with my father, make him join the cause." Theon hoped that was true, but it had been ten years since he'd seen Balon Greyjoy. "But I wish I weren't leaving you." Amina threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. "You could come with me."

Amina smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I think Robb needs me with him more than you do. But one day, I'll take you up on the offer. I'd like to try that axe throwing game you're always joking about."

"If anyone could beat the odds at the finger dance, it's you." He laughed. They hardly ever had to say goodbye to each other for any length of time, so neither of them knew the best way to go about it. Each time Amina would hug him and be prepared to send him on his way, Theon would think of something to say to put off leaving for a few moments more.

When Amina hugged him for the fourth or fifth time, Theon almost changed his mind. She hugged him so tight her arms nearly choked the life out of him. Though he'd never been at home in Winterfell, he'd always felt at home with Amina. She'd taken him under her wing, despite being several years younger than him, and always reminded him he was more than just the son of a failed rebel.

Now it was time for Theon to return to the Iron Island, to the home of his childhood, and he couldn't take Amina with him. He'd told her once that she ought to have been Ironborn. Women on the Islands could captain ships and fight in battles. They might never be Ladies or Queens in their own right, but it was said every man was a King on his own ship. The same was true of their women.

Theon joked that if she'd been Ironborn, he would have chosen her for his rock wife. He'd almost continued that she could still be his salt wife, but he knew Amina would have hit him, and she never pulled her punches. He considered reminding her of that now, but he'd delayed his departure long enough. It was time to leave.

Theon would miss Amina more than he would miss anyone. She'd been the best friend he'd ever known, and a sister too. _My fearless dragon girl_. He kissed her on the forehead and wriggled his way out of her arms. "Try not to get into too much trouble without me."

* * *

If Theon had been a child who couldn't recall the day he'd left Pyke in vivid detail, he might have said Seagard had the same look. But Seagard was large, and fortified with curtain walls that rivaled those of Winterfell. The only real similarity was the way the castle stretched out over sea stacks, into the water. But the stone bridges connecting the buildings made it all appear a bit more permanent. Meanwhile, Pyke only looked the way it did because half the towers had crumbled into the sea.

"Considering a good jump, are we?" The woman who'd joined him, had red hair, a shade somewhere between Sansa's and Catelyn's. She was slight of frame, but her dress had been laced tight to show the curves she did have. "I used to cliff dive, when I was a child. If only we kept that fearlessness our whole lives."

"You're Lord Mallister's daughter," he realized. "He didn't tell me you were so beautiful." Surely Jason Mallister had told Theon her name, but he couldn't remember it. "Sera?"

"Sallei," she corrected with a raised eyebrow. "That's flattering, but I'm married." Theon shrugged one shoulder. It wouldn't be the first time a married woman had caught his eye. She added, "I have a baby." Theon remained undeterred.

Sallei laughed. "Oh, you're exactly as Lyman said you'd be."

"Your husband is Lyman _Darry_?" Theon asked incredulously. He'd fought alongside the man, Lyman wasn't half bad in a battle. Clearly his men loved him; there was no other reason for them to cast their lot with a minor lord from a disgraced House. But he was just that, a _minor_ lord.

In the Riverlands, the Mallisters were second only to the Tullys, and Jason Mallister had only two children. It wasn't outlandish to say Sallei Mallister could have married a Tyrell, or even Renly Baratheon before he proclaimed himself King. But instead, she'd married a lordling who was hardly more than a landed knight.

Sallei looked at Theon as if she could read his mind, and simply shrugged. "My father said you were expecting a Ironborn ship to meet you here. I'm not surprised they didn't come. You know my father killed your brother here."

She said it casually, which made it sting all the more. "I hold no enmity toward your father or any Mallister for what happened to Rodrik." He had no love for his eldest brother, and in truth, could count his memories of Rodrik on one hand. "Has your father not warned you away from me?"

"Oh, he tried," Sallei said with a laugh. She and her brother, Patrek, had the same bright smile. "But he never tries very hard. He knows I won't listen."

From one conversation with Jason Mallister, it was clear he would have given his daughter the world on a silver platter if she'd asked for it. Perhaps that was why Sallei been permitted to marry a Darry.

"I only came to tell you Patrek found a ship," Sallei said after a pause. "It's a trading cog, terrible thing if you ask me, there's been far nicer ships in our ports. But this one was easy to convince, and as you may expect, my father wasn't eager to find you a better option."

Theon scoffed at the obvious slight. But still, he was glad to hear he'd soon be on his way. The sooner he made it to Pyke, the sooner he would become a prince. Things would all fall into place just as they were meant to.

Sallei looked back toward the keep as if she'd heard someone call out. "Ah, well. I must be going. It was…lovely to meet you." She smirked as if she'd made a joke. "If you see my husband before I do, tell him not to die or I'll have the Stranger curse him." And with that, Sallei Mallister marched back into Seagard with purpose.

Theon was left standing on the ramparts, overlooking the sea, alone.

* * *

Theon's return to Pyke had gone poorly, to say the least. His father behaved as if a third cousin had returned for a visit, instead of his own son and heir. And that was another issue. If his uncle Aeron were to be believed, Balon was considering Asha as his successor. Theon's _sister_. With Balon's reaction to Robb's offer of alliance, and his disdain for Theon's appearance, Theon could only assume that Aeron the right of it.

But that would change; Theon would make sure of it. He was a prince now that Balon had proclaimed himself King. Theon would ensure he became his father's heir, by whatever means necessary. If his Balon wanted all Robb's secrets, Theon would give them willingly as long as it secured a place at his father's side.

Then there was the matter of Amina. She would curse Theon when she learned he wasn't coming back. But his dragon girl had trusted him with her life, and he wouldn't betray her, even now. Her secrets he would hold close to his heart. Her secrets would mean her life. _I won't speak word about her, not even her name_ , Theon vowed. King Balon could do what he wanted with the Northerners, but Theon would protect Amina until his last breath. He owed her that much at least.

Not everything was bad. He'd acquired a new horse, too temperamental for most Ironborn to handle. But Smiler was perfect for Theon, who'd been riding horses in Winterfell for ten years. And now he had a woman to warm his bed. Esgred wasn't beautiful per se, but she was spirited and that was enough for him.

They talked as they climbed the hill to Pyke. Theon found himself telling the woman more than he should, but she was easy to talk too. He pulled back just before he mentioned Amina. Better not to chance it, even with a shipwright's wife.

As they neared the gate, he discovered a woman was waiting for them. She smirked when she saw him, and gave a wave. She had dark hair and brown eyes. She was dressed more like a tavern wench than a sailor, but her sun-kissed skin and the freckles across her nose proved she spent plenty of time in the sun. "Asha! They told me you weren't expected for days."

The woman raised an eyebrow, and shared a look with Theon's travel companion. Esgred just shook her head, which earned a laugh out of the woman he presumed was his sister. "You truly don't remember us at all," she said. "A pity."

Esgred shrugged Theon's arm off her shoulder and, much to Theon's horror, went immediately to hug his sister. "You look like a whore, Thyra," Esgred said with a grin. Not his sister then, but his cousin. Upon second inspection, he should have known. Asha had always had a vulture's beak of a nose.

He remembered Thyra as a child; she'd been raised on Pyke while her father, Victarion, was on his longship. She'd been closer with his brothers than him. At twelve she'd already been promised a place on the crew of Maron's longship. But that had been just before the Rebellion, and she had never gotten the chance.

"I ought to have your eye for that," Thyra said, but she grinned. "Perhaps I have been away too long. I may have actually _missed_ you, Asha." Still processing the appearance of his cousin, who'd been at sea for half a year, it took Theon more than a few moments to register what she'd said. _Asha_. Impossible. This woman could not be Asha.

Thyra gave Theon a once-over, and from the tilt of her head, he knew he'd been weighed and found lacking. "In Theon's mind we are still little girls playing at being reavers," Asha said in a mock whisper.

"Speak for yourself, cousin. _I_ was never playing at anything." There was steel in Thyra's tone, but Asha's smirk showed she was more than used to it. If anything, Thyra seemed more like Balon's daughter than Asha, at least in demeanor. Then again, she _had_ been raised by him.

"Come, I'll need you to help me into my…" Asha trailed off and looked to Theon. "What was it again, my chainmail gown and boiled leather smallclothes?"

Thyra bared her teeth in a humorless grin. "A chainmail gown? Do you happen to have another?" She cast one more disinterested glance in Theon's direction, before heading toward the keep.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Theon demanded, mortified.

"I wanted to know what sort of man you were. Now I know." Asha shook her head and followed after Thyra. She paused a few feet away. "A word of warning, little brother? Be careful, not all Greyjoys are as friendly as me."

* * *

Theon sulked into the great hall, which was crowded with his father's lords and captains. Nearly every House in the Iron Islands was represented amongst the attendees, save for a few from Old Wyk who were on their way. Ale was flowing and a few men played the finger dance, no one paid him any mind.

On the dais, his father sat in the Seastone Chair, with Asha at his right in the place of honor. Thyra looked to be engaged in a serious discussion with her father. Neither of them acknowledged Theon's presence until Balon reprimanded him for being late. His cousin met his gaze with one raised eyebrow before returning her attention to Victarion.

He choked his way through supper and gulped down several cups of wine, wishing he could be anywhere but in that room. Asha spoke to him as if entirely unaware of his black mood, or else purposely trying to make him feel worse.

Finally, Balon stood and addressed his companions on the dais. "Have done with your drink and come to my solar. We have plans to lay." Victarion and Aeron were the first to follow after him. Thyra stood, but had a thrall refill her drinking horn. She took the Seastone Chair, and kicked her legs over the arms as if it were a chaise.

"It suits you, cousin," Asha teased.

"I'll tell Uncle Balon I want it moved to the _Kraken's Kiss_ ," she retorted with a smirk. "I hope the Stark boy didn't ruin your supper."

Asha grinned. "I believe it was the other way around."

Theon stared at his cousin in the Seastone Chair. No one else seemed the least bit phased that she would take it so casually, as if it were any seat at any table. "Would you sit the Iron Throne like that," he blurted before he had the moment to think.

Thyra raised an eyebrow. "No, not if I wanted to keep my limbs. They say those swords are still sharp enough to cut flesh."

Asha leaned toward their cousin, and said in a mock whisper, "He's only upset because he supposes that will be _his_ chair one day."

Thyra laughed, one harsh bark. She stood, and finished her ale in one gulp. "I have a better chance of taking the Seastone Chair, and I don't even want the bloody thing." The woman turned and headed for Balon's solar without another word.

* * *

Theon made it across the slippery, swaying bridge to the solar, with some effort. His uncles were sitting on either side of Balon in front of the brazier. Thyra sat next to her father, picking at her nails with her dirk.

Balon waved Victarion silent when Theon walked it. "I have made my plans. It is time you heard them." Thyra glanced up, and looked between them, as if she knew something Theon did not. "If the god grants us good winds, we will sail when the Drumms and Stonehouses arrive…or _you_ will. I mean for you to strike the first blow, Theon. You shall take eight longships north—"

" _Eight_?" Theon repeated incredulously. It was hardly more than he might take to Harlaw if he were to visit his mother at Ten Towers.

"You are to harry the Stony Shore, raiding the fishing villages and sinking any ships you chance to meet. It may be that you will draw some of the northern lords out from behind their stone walls. Aeron will accompany you, and Dagmer Cleftjaw."

Thyra was looking at him, waiting for his reaction. Theon knew he was red in the face, and he stammered looking for his words. She nodded as if he'd confirmed her suspicions and then went back to her nails.

Asha was given thirty longships to take Deepwood Motte. Victarion, the task of setting up an Ironborn base at Moat Cailin. The Neck was the only piece of land that offered passage between the North and all the continent below it. By blocking it off, Robb's troops would be unable to return home, leaving the North for the taking.

"Thyra, you'll sail with your father to take Moat Cailin," Balon continued. "When the Neck is secure, take your command up to Torrhen's Square. Be prepared for Winterfell to send reinforcements, however little they may be able to muster." His cousin grinned, though to Theon it looked more like a sneer. And with that, they were dismissed, and Theon's hopes of finding a place at his father's side went away with them.


	18. Aylward II

**AYLWARD**

 **B** itterbridge was the sort of castle which was often overlooked. It was small, though not plain. The Caswells of old had spared no expense in the stonework. But it wasn't the castle's beauty that made it special. It was its location. Situated at the point where the Roseroad crossed the Mander, Bitterbridge had the unique privilege of controlling what went into and out of the Reach. Certainly, there were other ways to travel. But no route was as quick and straightforward as the bitter bridge.

Long ago the bridge was simply known as the stone bridge, as it was one of a kind that far north on the Mander. That had changed when Maegor the Cruel had clashed on the bridge with the Faith Militant. The water had run red for twenty leagues after, or at least that was what the stories said. But that was not the only incident that made the bridge bitter. It was on that same bridge that the infant Prince Maelor was torn apart by a mob during the Dance of the Dragons. And it was on that bridge that Aylward Caswell had last seen his father, the day he'd been banished from his home for falling in love with a bastard.

Many years had passed since Aylward had left Bitterbridge, and still the sight of it lived up to his name. He could find no better word to describe the feeling of seeing his father's castle – no, it was his _brother's_ now – rise along the horizon.

Much had changed since he'd left. Aylward was hardly the same lovesick lordling who'd thrown away his father's dream to forge his own path. Life had seen to it that his naivete had been well and truly wiped away. He had duties now, not those of a lord or a husband, but duty to his King, and now to his Queen.

"This must be uncomfortable for you," Loras murmured beside him. It was rare that the young knight was not at Renly's side. But, the King had bannermen to entertain, and Loras had fallen a few strides behind. "But we'll be on our way shortly."

Aylward raised an eyebrow. They both knew _shortly_ was a frame of time which Renly had not yet grasped. At the pace they'd been traveling through the Reach, a fortnight at Bitterbridge would be quick. More like, they would be there for two. Maybe longer if Lord Caswell wished to put on a show. Knowing his little brother, Lorent would put on a spectacle.

"The King is going in," Loras pointed out. Aylward had been watching like a hawk the moment Lorent Caswell had greeted the King at the gate. "Are you coming?"

"Go without me," Aylward murmured. At Loras's disapproving look, the older knight shook his head. "I'll only be a moment."

Aylward walked to the railing of the bridge and overlooked the water below. The water was calm here, pleasant. As a child, he'd played in these very waters with his little brother, but that was before the war. Before their elder brothers had been killed at the Tower of Joy, before Aylward and Lorent's lives had changed irreparably.

At the far end of the bridge, the King and his party had disappeared into the keep. Aylward walked toward it slowly. Trying not to linger on the memory of his father coming down into the courtyard that day. With a grave expression he'd called Aylward over, and calmly informed him his brothers were dead. It was their fault. King Robert had sent Eddard Stark to free the Lady Lyanna from the Prince, but Cleyton Caswell had it in his head that he could do it himself. And wherever Cleyton went, Armond followed.

At the time, Aylward had taken it in stride. His brothers were older, distant. Preoccupied with women and wars. They had little time for younger siblings. It was only in the days after that he began to realize why his father had told him first. Why he'd left Lorent to play in the river. Aylward Caswell was heir to Bitterbridge, and in that moment his life had ceased to be his own.

But that was a lifetime ago. His father was dead, his brother was lord, and Aylward Caswell was a banished knight who served a king. The knight took the remaining steps toward the door and crossed the threshold into his old home. Under his breath, Aylward whispered a prayer to the Seven that Renly would tire of Lorent Caswell quickly.

* * *

A fortnight came and went, and still Renly showed no interest in leaving Bitterbridge. Their lands had little to offer, but Lord Caswell would bleed his stores dry if it meant earning his King's favor. Lorent had always been a lickspittle.

On this night a large feast had been arranged, complete with music and even dancing. Aylward felt the urge to remind everyone that they were in the midst of a war, but choked it down along with a swig of ale.

The knight swept his eyes across the room, taking in the revelry. There was something so exhausting about it all, the near constant movement. They weren't fighting, they were barely training – save for the tournaments Renly was fond of. But still, he was tired. Tired of the court politics that had become a part of his life since leaving for King's Landing. Tired of pretending that he cared, that he didn't notice every look of pity cast his way.

Aylward's gaze fell on Lorent. His brother was looking back. The Lord turned back to his companion, and after a brief exchange, abandoned the girl at the fringes of the dancers. Aylward knew what he was in for before Lorent even began to move in his direction.

The knight searched in vain for someone, anyone. Ser Emmon was dancing, and Ser Parmen was attempting to out drink a younger knight. Loras and Renly were absorbed in conversation on the dais. Even Queen Margaery looked to be amused by her conversation with a cousin, leaving Aylward no opportunity to stage a rescue.

The hand that clapped him on the shoulder made him freeze. "They said you'd gone with Renly to the capital but I hardly believed it." Aylward turned to look at his little brother. Lorent had a crow's beak of a nose, and dull hair the color of sawdust. He looked like their father, without the muscle. It gave him the look of a child playing dress up.

"It was years ago," Aylward muttered. "Not that I'd expect you to check in on me, little brother."

"Oh, come now. Isn't that all water under the bridge?" Lorent asked. From his tone, he seemed to genuinely believe it. As if Aylward could just forget his father giving him an ultimatum, love or family. "Father is dead. In case you weren't aware." Aylward raised an eyebrow. "Well, you weren't at the funeral, and King's Landing is so far away."

"Not so far that I haven't heard stories about _you_ ," the knight said with a sigh. "I'm surprised you declared for Renly at all. We both know you never had much love for the Tyrells." As they'd grown older, Aylward had grown close to their liege lords. His father pressured him to make connections; the Tyrells, the Hightowers, the Oakhearts. But all Lorent saw was a line of lordlings between himself and his brother. He only saw himself being left behind.

"Yes, well, we Lords must do what's right for our subjects," Lorent said. As if Aylward couldn't possibly understand what pressures his brother was under. As if he hadn't nearly stood in Lorent's shoes. "And what's best is allowing Renly Baratheon to cross this bridge."

"And tomorrow, if the tide turns against our King..." Aylward trailed off. "I suppose you'd spare no thought to throwing your support behind another."

To Lorent's credit, he didn't deny it. "Aylward, I am sorry. You may not believe me, and I'd understand if you didn't. But not a day goes by that I don't remember what I did to you, that Wylla..."

He trailed off, but not before her name stung Aylward like a knife to the heart. Lorent let out a slow breath, realizing his mistake. "Wylla is dead because our father prevented Lord Crane from sending help." The knight's voice came out stilted. "All because the request was signed with my name."

"If Lady Oakheart–"

"Arwyn Oakheart was _dying_ ," Aylward reminded him. "So was her eldest son, and half of Old Oak, and her bastard granddaughter, my _wife_. What if the maester from Highgarden hadn't arrived in time? What if Lady Oakheart had died?"

"Father didn't know," Lorent said quietly. The brothers looked at each other in silence before Lord Caswell spoke again. "I burnt the letter. I was still a boy, still so foolish and naïve. I thought...I thought that if the Oakhearts died, you would come home. You would have to come home."

"You burned my letter," Aylward repeated incredulously.

"Wylla was never meant to die." Desperation had seeped into Lorent's tone, but Aylward wasn't listening. "I thought she'd come home with you. Father would have to allow it. Where else would you go? I was wrong, and I will never forgive myself for it."

Lorent put out a hand, as if to reach for Aylward. But the knight shrunk away, disgusted. "Neither will I."


	19. Catelyn II

**CATELYN**

 **C** atelyn caught Amina leaving Robb's chambers, as she knew she would. In the months since Ned's death the two had spent more time together than apart. Since Theon departed for Pyke, it had only gotten worse. "There you are, Amina." The girl had the decency to look guilty. "How have you been, since Theon left?"

Amina looked down at the floor for a moment. "I miss him. There's less to smile about now, he always found some way to make me laugh even if everything else was awful." Catelyn had never cared for Theon; he was too smug and too self-assured. But he and Amina had been inseparable since they were children, and though the girl had admirers and allies, she had a severe lack of friends.

"Perhaps it would be best for you to ride south with me, to take your mind off Theon." Catelyn would be leaving at first light with twenty of Robb's best men and five lordlings. They hoped to find an ally against the Lannisters in Renly. It would be good for Amina to travel; she'd done so little of it outside the North.

There were other reasons it would be best to remove Amina from Riverrun as well. With every passing day, Amina and Robb grew closer. Some had begun to note that Amina was Queen in all but name. Catelyn knew at the end of this war the two would scheme up some way to end Robb's betrothal, but the end was not yet in sight. Their Frey companions grew increasingly uncomfortable with Amina's presence. Cat worried there would be consequences. "Besides, you are better suited to treating with Renly than I am. You'll put him at ease."

The girl grimaced, and Catelyn wondered if Amina was also growing weary of the war and her role in it. Amina had always been skilled at getting her way and weaseling out secrets. But, playing that game in Winterfell was very different than the show she was expected to put on each day for Robb's troops. "You might like the Reach, it's beautiful. There are more flowers than you've seen in your entire life."

Amina smiled softly, and nodded. "I suppose I _would_ like to go, and I suppose I would also be useful there." More than she had been here, while Robb's army bided their time waiting for their plans to fall into place. Amina smiled again, her momentary discomfort gone or at least hidden behind a mask.

* * *

Renly's outriders overtook them half a day's ride from Bitterbridge. The men led the Northern party to the small castle where their king was staying for the moment. Amina's face lit up as they walked among the pavilions. After Robb's somber Northern war camp, Renly's seemed more vibrant than King's Landing. Though when they reached the tourney grounds, her brows furrowed. "I seem to have been under the impression we were going to war," Amina said quietly, leaning toward Catelyn. "But it appears we were meant to be celebrating."

Though the girl made it clear she thought the tourney a southron folly, she took in the gathering with hungry eyes as Ser Colen led them to the dais. Amina had always loved extravagant things, if only because they drew an interesting crowd. Catelyn could almost hear Amina naming each house's banner as they passed and rattling off every detail she knew of them. She had been to few tournaments; they weren't common north of the Neck. But, it had been at a tourney at the Twins that Amina had been given her first throwing knife.

They waited, watching, while the melee finished. Ser Loras Tyrell was unhorsed and beaten by a tall knight in cobalt blue armor. The crowd was less than thrilled with the result, Renly only laughed and beckoned the knight forward. "Well fought, I've seen Ser Loras unhorsed once or twice, but never in quite that fashion." Renly addressed the crowd. "I present your victor, Lady Brienne of Tarth."

The words shocked Catelyn near as much as they shocked Amina, who looked on wide-eyed as the knight removed her helm. Lady Brienne was not a beauty, by any stretch of the term, but she had proven herself to be a fierce warrior. Still, Catelyn couldn't help but pity her, there was no creature as unfortunate as an ugly woman.

They were presented to the King in the South, though Catelyn refused to grant him the honorific of _your grace_. Amina curtsied to Renly as she was introduced, and Cat could almost see the lords soften toward her. It was hard to dislike the girl upon first meeting; she wielded her courtesies as flawlessly as her knives. It was only later, after one learned just how troublesome Amina could be, could one's opinion be changed. But by then, if Amina had done her job well, one would have accepted her warts and all.

She'd been right to bring Amina along. Cat had been in the North far too long to play along with these Southerners and their games.

* * *

They were housed in Renly's own pavilion, a massive silk tent larger than the common room of many inns. It was so well stocked; it was as if Renly had packed every possession from his chambers in Storm's End. Amina went straight for the wine, and poured them each a full cup. "I have never been so disrespected in my life," she said, after gulping down nearly half the goblet.

Catelyn was surprised to hear the words out of the girl's mouth. Amina had smiled and exchanged pleasantries with Renly's lords. She'd laughed off their slights against Robb's crown. Sometimes it startled Catelyn just how well Amina hid her feelings.

"I suppose it should be expected. All my life I've been Eddard Stark's ward, the Lady of an island everyone wants. Who would disrespect me? But here that doesn't matter." She shook her head. "But it isn't even that. It's that they so clearly expected me to be some Northern brute, as if we're all Wildlings. It's that Robb's crown means nothing to them, _he_ means nothing to them."

Amina paced as she spoke, taking large sips from her cup between sentences. "Ned's death is only some distant tragedy, nothing for them to be concerned with. Renly had the audacity to say he'd send you Cersei's head. All the while they live like this." She threw her arms out, spinning around the pavilion. "War is not a tournament, war is death. They would know that if they'd been fighting with us. If they'd had the blood of a friend spatter across their faces. Most of these soldiers are children, they've never killed a man, they've never watched someone _die_. How can they expect to win?"

She spoke as if she'd aged decades in the last year, and maybe she had. Maybe Catelyn was still holding on to versions of her children that no longer existed. "You shouldn't know what those things are like either," she said quietly. "Neither should Robb. But I can't change that now, we can only move forward."

Catelyn took a small sip of her wine. "They're as naïve as you once were." At Amina's raised eyebrow, Catelyn amended, "Well, perhaps a little more. They will learn, eventually. But can you really wish it on them, the things you've seen?"

Amina let out a short breath. "Of course not. If I could snap my fingers and make every soldier lay down their arms, I would do it. But to be so idealistic...That's how people die."

They were both silent for a long time, until finally Amina lay down her glass. "Will you braid my hair for the feast?"

Catelyn smiled softly. "Of course, Amina."

* * *

On the dais, Amina was nestled between a broad-shouldered knight with a rainbow cloak, and the Queen herself. Queen Margaery was a tiny thing, of an age with Amina, but much more delicate. Looking at them, Catelyn could tell they would be very different sorts of queens. But to watch the way they talked like old friends, you wouldn't know it.

Between Renly's pavilion and Bitterbridge's great hall, Amina's solemn demeanor had eased a bit. It reminded Cat that Amina _was_ just a girl, despite what she said to the contrary. Amina tasted every food and laughed as the young queen tried to goad the knight into smiling. Of the group at the table, only he looked as uncomfortable with the proceedings as Catelyn felt.

But the pair's laughter was interrupted when Lord Willum's eldest son banged a hand on the table. "Lady Corrigan," Josua said, and then repeated himself as if it was possible for anyone to have missed it.

Amina turned toward him slowly, a mask of serenity set firmly over her features. "Ser Josua?"

He looked slightly taken aback that she'd remembered his name, but quickly recovered. "Tell us, how does this feast compare to the ones among _your_ camp?"

"It was a lovely meal," she said diplomatically. Turning to Lorent Caswell she added, "Thank you Lord Caswell for hosting us, it has been a long journey."

The skinny lord smiled proudly. "Please, Lady Corrigan, it is my pleasure." Beside Amina, Ser Caswell was staring pointedly at his plate. "Perhaps now that you've seen all the South has to offer, you may venture back one day."

Amina gave him a polite smile, but Catelyn could see it strained the edges of her composure. Cat had heard all about the endless line of Northern suitors and seen the men of the Riverlands behave the same. Beldain had enough natural resources to build Bitterbridge sevenfold. Men could be exhausting when they had riches in their sights.

"Must be awful up there," Ser Josua cut in. He took a long drink from his goblet that left a dribble of red down his chin. "A rose isn't meant for the cold and the dark."

"Not the roses of Highgarden, no," Amina said calmly. "But the blue winter roses of the North thrive, and many say they're the most beautiful rose of all."

"I believe my brother spoke of those a time or two," Renly said, joining the conversation. "He always did have a fondness for the North."

Ser Willum was not prepared to back down, not even for the King. "But to be fighting a losing battle...That must be the worst of it. To know that your _king_ ," he said the word like a curse, "will return home defeated, if he even returns at all."

Amina put her hand out abruptly toward her goblet. Catelyn was not sure if she meant to drink the wine in one go, or to throw it in the knight's face. But the girl did neither. Instead Amina rested her hand on the stem. After a tense moment, she pulled her hand away and returned it to her lap. No one seemed to notice Amina's momentary lapse of composure, save for Catelyn. "But we will fight to the last."

"Quite right!" Renly exclaimed, silencing further comment from the young knight. "The commitment of the Northmen is admirable. In fact, I believe it is time the three of us spoke, don't you?" His eyes flicked between Amina and Catelyn. "Let's take a walk."


	20. Amina V

**AMINA**

 **T** he garden was more beautiful than anything Amina had ever seen. The plants were every color of the rainbow, with flowers that looked like jewels. Even the stonework was glorious with carvings of animals and dancing women. She felt as if she'd awoken in the realm of the Gods. Amina pinched the skin on her wrist, and still she was not shaken from the dream.

Across the garden silks blew in the wind, and when they parted for a moment, revealed a large room beyond. Amina pushed the curtains aside and stepped into the chamber. The walls were covered with tapestries, which depicted scenes both familiar and fantastical. The floors were made of green marble that shined like nothing she had seen before.

A quiet gasp pulled Amina's attention, and she turned to see a girl sitting in the bath. Her arms were crossed over her chest and silver blonde hair fell over her shoulders. She looked like the water nymphs depicted on the walls. "I seem to have taken a wrong turn," Amina said, uncertainly. Though, in truth, she felt as if she'd been mean to find this room and this girl.

"Are you one of Xaro's guests?" The girl asked, stretching toward a table for her robe. Her fingers couldn't quite reach. Amina handed the girl the silk robe, finer than anything she'd seen, even in Renly's frivolous summer war camp. "You look so familiar."

"No, I–" Amina broke off and sighed. "Well, I suppose I have no idea where I am. This is a rather elaborate dream. But you, who are you?"

The girl laughed. "I ought to be asking _you_ that question. But I've been hounded by Qartheen who wish to see me, it's refreshing to meet someone who doesn't." Once she'd slipped into a robe, she extended her hand. "Daenerys Stormborn, of House Targaryen."

Amina stared at the girl's hand for a moment, and then at her face. Daenerys dropped her hand to her side. "That's impossible. House Targaryen is gone." _All of them but me_. But the longer Amina looked, the more she found the similarities. Eyes a light shade of purple, and hair the color Amina imagined hers ought to have been if it weren't for the dye. Daenerys had softer features, and they made her look young, but not so different that Amina couldn't see herself in them. She remembered Jaime Lannister's words: _you aren't the only one_.

"Who are you?" The other girl asked finally, clearly growing nervous with Amina's silence. "You are not Qartheen."

"In the Seven Kingdoms they know me as Amina Corrigan, but it is a lie. My father was Aerys Targaryen, and my mother died on Dragonstone. I think I may be your sister."

* * *

Amina fought awareness, even as the dream slipped away like water through her fingers. She kept her eyes shut tight, hoping that if she didn't let the light in that other world would return. But the sounds and smells of Renly's camp cut through her dream and brought her back to the present. Catelyn was standing over her, looking rather concerned. "Are you ill?"

The raven-haired girl pushed herself up onto her elbows, taking in Renly's pavilion as if she could will it away. "No, I'm alright," she murmured when it was clear the dream was not returning. "My dream was so…real."

Catelyn sat on the edge of the bed. She was already dressed, Amina had overslept. "Tell me about it."

"There was a palace, it was unlike anything I've ever seen." Amina could almost smell the sweet and spicy scent on the air. If she strained, she thought she could still make out the birds in the distance. It had all been so vivid, as if she were really there. "But the strangest thing was the girl in the bath."

Catelyn raised an eyebrow. "She looked like me," Amina continued. "A little. She was thinner, her hair was silver, and her eyes…" She trailed off remembering the other girl's eyes, violet, a few shades darker than Amina's own. "She said her name was Daenerys Targaryen."

The expression on Catelyn's face changed in an instant. Her eyes flicked toward the tent flap as if someone would be summoned just by hearing the word. "You must never speak that name."

Amina looked at Catelyn blankly for a moment. "Why? Do you know who she is?" After a pause she added, "Is she real?"

Cat was silent for a long time. She pressed her fingers over her eyes and sighed. She looked tired, the kind of tired that ran bone deep. The kind of tired Amina felt as well. War sucked all the living out of you.

"She is real," Cat said quietly. It was all she said at first, and the thoughts began to swim in Amina's head. How had she dreamed about that girl? Where was she? And then another thought: How did Catelyn know her?

"You knew there were more?" Amina whispered, trying her hardest to keep her voice even.

Catelyn reached for Amina's hands, but Amina dodged them. Cat looked resigned. "I didn't until the King came to Winterfell. Before then we thought you were all that was left, but Robert had news." She paused for a moment before continuing. "You know that Aerys had a second son?" Amina didn't bother to nod; Catelyn knew she did. "He escaped before Robert's army could reach Dragonstone, but he did not leave alone. Robert learned that Viserys and his infant sister reached Essos unharmed. He sent spies to find them, kill them."

"I have a sister," Amina whispered.

"Many knew Rhaella was pregnant when she left King's Landing, but most believed the baby was lost. We knew better, of course, but Ned always thought you were the only one, until Robert…" Catelyn was desperate to be believed, and Amina did believe her. But in the end, she'd still kept the secret.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Amina asked. "When you found out, why didn't you tell me?"

"Robert wanted her dead, he sent assassins to find her," Cat explained. "Ned was worried if we told you he'd receive news of her death soon after. We thought it was best to keep it secret. We wanted to save you that pain. We never imagined…"

Amina laughed humorlessly. "Never imagined I would dream my way into the girl's bathing room? Me neither. But I did. Somehow."

"They call them dragon dreams," Cat said quietly. "I know little about them. But we all know the story of the girl who dreamed the destruction of Valyria and brought her family West."

Amina shook her head; she couldn't think about that now. Couldn't wonder about Valyrian magic and whether or not it was in her blood. That was a question for another day. Today all she could think was that Catelyn had kept this secret for a year. This monumental secret that even Jaime Lannister had tried to tell her.

"I'll be riding to Storm's End to meet with Stannis," Catelyn said softly, after a moment of Amina's silence. "We'll leave as soon as you're dressed."

"I'm not coming with you," Amina said after a pause. "I'll remain here with Margaery until you return."

For a moment Catelyn looked as if she wanted to argue, but she didn't. Finally, she nodded, and rose from the bed. "I'm sure Lady Margaery will appreciate the company. I'll return as soon as I'm able."

Amina said nothing, only stayed on the bed with her knees drawn up into her chest, thinking about the girl in the bath. Daenerys Targaryen. Her sister.

* * *

Amina sank her knives into the target one after another. The familiar _thwack_ soothed her. When her belt was empty, she walked to the target, collected her knives, and began again. The rhythm felt like her heartbeat. Like she became a part of the knives, and when they landed in the wood, they took a little bit of her with them. The confusion and betrayal that had been threatening to bury her dissipated with each throw.

"Well done, Lady Corrigan." The voice broke Amina's concentration and her next knife found itself stuck upright in the dirt. She turned toward the voice and scowled. The knight held his hands up in surrender. "My apologies. Your skill is impressive. Are you that good with a sword? Bow and arrow?"

Amina shook her head. "I train with both, but my affinity is for knives."

She looked at the man for a moment. It was the knight she'd been sat next to the night they'd arrived, Ser Aylward Caswell. He was the brother of the current Lord Caswell, but from the way they spoke–or rather, _didn't_ speak–they weren't close. "Lady Stark left for Storm's End. We were surprised to hear you weren't going with her."

"We had a falling out," Amina said simply.

"Ah." The knight paused and shifted uncomfortably. "Well, families can be difficult."

Amina raised an eyebrow. "I suppose you would know." He winced. She felt a bit bad about saying it. It wasn't Ser Caswell she was upset with. "Did you only come to tell me Catelyn left?"

"Also, that Queen Margaery asked for you," the knight added. "With so many going with the King to Storm's End, she's having rooms made up for you in the castle."

Amina thought it strange a knight of the Rainbow Guard would be playing messenger for the Queen, but kept her mouth shut. Better not to offend the knight twice in one conversation. "Are you going with Renly as well?"

"We're leaving at first light," he confirmed. "Lady Stark rode ahead to arrive on her own."

Amina nodded. For a moment she stayed quiet, and the knight began to leave. "Ser Caswell," she called. The knight stopped. "Will you look after her? Catelyn." They both knew that Catelyn had her own men to do that. But they also both knew that wasn't why Amina was asking. Aylward nodded once. "Thank you."

* * *

Amina lay draped across a cushioned couch. Her hair hung loose over the edge, nearly touching the floor. Margaery was buried in her wardrobe tossing dresses out of it into a pile at her feet. Her ladies would have a mess to clean up after the Queen finished her search. "I don't need to wear the dress," Amina told her for the third or fourth time. "I have my own."

"But this one will be perfect," Margaery promised. "And besides, we're celebrating."

"My nameday was a fortnight ago," Amina reminded her.

"And you told no one," the Queen said, reprimanding her. "So, we celebrate tonight."

Amina propped herself up on her elbows to look at her friend. There was more to this than Margaery was saying. She was distracting herself from something by treating Amina like her doll.

"Margaery, sit down," Amina said. The Queen did nothing of the sort. Amina tried again, this time firmer, "Margaery, _sit_."

The Queen looked over and let out a short breath. "Is it that obvious?"

"You're positively frantic," Amina said matter-of-factly. Margaery joined her on the couch, and Amina swung herself up, so they were face to face. "Are you worried about Renly?"

Margaery nodded. "And my brothers, and Ser Caswell, and all the others." She shook her head. "How do you do it? Your people are fighting in the Riverlands and you are so far away. Does it not scare you?"

"Of course, it scares me," Amina said softly. It was true, though she'd tried not to think about it. "I'm just better at controlling it. We've been fighting longer; I've had more time."

Margaery turned toward her. "Does that make it easier, the time?"

"Some, but mostly it only makes it easier to pretend," Amina admitted. "You don't have to be strong, but you have to pretend that you are. There are so many eyes on you, and they're all just as scared as you are. But you are their Queen, and they must know that you believe in your King, in his army. If you can't show them that, if they can't see that faith…there isn't any point to it. Without faith we fall apart."

Margaery's shoulders shook, and a moment later she was crying in Amina's arms. The raven-haired girl stroked the Queen's back, the way Catelyn used to do to comfort her. "I never asked for any of this," Margaery whispered. "I never wanted to be their Queen. I don't know if I can do this."

"You can," Amina whispered. "I believe in you."

"Aylward said the same thing," Margaery said quietly, pulling away from Amina. "But it's easy to believe in someone else's strength when you have so much of your own. I've never been that person, the one that people relied on _or_ the one who needed to rely on themselves. I always had others to be strong for me."

Amina remembered when she was a girl, young and naïve. The years when she believed she that she really was Amina Corrigan. When Eddard and Catelyn had been her world. And then her world had changed, and she couldn't rely on them anymore. Not because she couldn't trust them, but because relying on them put them at risk. She had to rely on herself.

"Relying on yourself might sound like independence, but it's just another word for fear," Amina whispered. "You wish you'd been able to choose your path, but none of us can choose. Fate is out of our control, only sometimes it's a little more obvious who's pulling your strings."

Margaery dried her tears with her sleeve and tried to smile. "At least you can choose who to marry."

"Oh, Gods," Amina groaned. "I thought I'd finally escaped the suitors when I left the North, but no, I've just found a whole new batch of them."

The Queen giggled softly. "It could all be over; all you have to do is choose." Amina raised her eyebrows. "You should meet my brother, Willas. He's home in Highgarden. He's very kind, and very smart."

"I could _never_ marry a Southerner," Amina assured her. "The North wouldn't stand for it. Beldain's history goes back to the First Men. We'd start another war."

Margaery laughed again; her tears forgotten. "Is it really as bad as all that?" Amina nodded gravely. "What's it like? Beldain I mean."

Amina shrugged. "I don't know, I've…I don't remember it." She'd almost said she'd never been, but Amina Corrigan had been born on the island. "I've been told it's beautiful. That it's shaped like a sea star, with great mountains in the center. There're deep forests of Ironwood and in the mountains they mine for precious gems. But, if you get past all that, there's a lake. They say the water is so clear you can see the whole world reflected in it."

"It sounds beautiful," Margaery said wistfully.

"It does," Amina agreed. Not for the first time she thought about running away. Becoming the girl they all believed her to be. Rebuilding Castle Corrigan on the cliffs and building a new home amongst the ghosts.

But she couldn't. Just like Margaery, there were people watching her, relying on her. Amina would not let them down. She had to see this war through, to walk out the other side into the new world. No matter what that world looked like, she could not run from it. It was inevitable.


	21. Aylward III

**AYLWARD**

 **T** hough night had descended over their camp, there would be no sleep had tonight. At daybreak Renly would lead his troops into battle against his brother, and Aylward was meant to command a van. He'd left the others back in Renly's pavilion, bickering and playing their games. As if who dealt the first blow, or who led the most men mattered. They were going to war, and none of them were prepared.

Few of Renly's men had fought in Robert's Rebellion, or even the Greyjoy's short-lived uprising. Aylward was just as green as the rest of them. But still, he remembered his brothers leaving, searching for glory. Their bones had returned, but their souls were lost. There was no glory to be found in war, only death.

But yet he had pledged his life to a King and Aylward would follow him into battle, as his vows demanded of him. They would win, he had little doubt. Even with half their host remaining at Bitterbridge, their army still outnumbered Stannis Baratheon's meager host ten to one. He did not fear his bones returning to his brother, he feared for his soul. For all their souls. What must the Gods think of them? These men who would tear out each other's throats instead of forming a peace. Instead of uniting against the greater enemy.

A blood-curdling scream interrupted his thoughts. Voices shouted in the distance, and soon others were joining them, until the words arrived at his ears. "The King is dead!" Aylward broke into a run.

He approached the tent from the back and if he hadn't stopped when he did, he would have collided with Lady Brienne. The girl looked stricken, her eyes hollow and skin pale.

Lady Stark griped his arm with fierceness, and Aylward pulled his eyes away from his fellow guard. "It was Stannis," she whispered. Her voice was brittle. "I don't know how, but I swear to you." They both looked to Brienne, the girl was silent, staring into the distance. "They'll kill her. We have to leave."

There was an unspoken request, and Aylward remembered what Amina had asked of him. He nodded once and steered the women toward the edge of camp. No one looked at them as they walked. Everyone was consumed with their own panic, or grief, or confusion.

The three reached the horses where Lady Stark's men were waiting. They were all eager to ask questions, but Catelyn turned toward Aylward. "You must bring Amina to safety, ser. _Please_."

Even as she started away from him, toward her men and escape, Aylward could see the fear in her eyes. He thought of the girl in Bitterbridge with Queen Margaery. If Stannis got to her, Amina would be a hostage; he would use her to bring Robb Stark to heel. Or at least he would try. Aylward had a sinking feeling the girl would turn a knife on herself before she allowed anyone to use her as a chess piece in their game. Aylward gave a single nod.

Without another word, he parted from the group. He gathered the things that he required and departed for Bitterbridge with haste. There was nothing left behind him but chaos. The lords would tear each other apart searching for answers. Their loyalties would be divided. Many would join with Stannis; others would leave for King's Landing. Aylward would do neither.

He didn't know where he would go after, but for now it was the promise he'd made that kept him moving forward. Tomorrow would be another question, but today all he could do was save a girl's life.

* * *

Aylward's familial lands felt empty now. Half a hundred pavilions still remained, but most of the men had scattered. Nearly a moon had passed since Renly's death, and by now word had spread far and wide. He could not blame the men for abandoning the cause. There was little for them now but uncertainty.

The gates of Bitterbridge opened for him, but he saw few servants as he made his way up the tower to the Queen's chambers. When he reached Margaery's door, he knocked twice. Inside he heard voices speak in hushed whispers. "Your grace, it's me," Aylward called out.

"Let him in," Margaery said, just loud enough for him to hear. There was a scraping behind the door, and then a metallic clinking as the lock was undone. When the door opened it revealed Amina Corrigan standing next to a large chair with a knife. Aylward held up his hands in surrender. Amina looked over his shoulder at the empty hall. After a moment she nodded and stepped out of his path.

Margaery darted around the dark-haired girl and threw her arms around Aylward's neck. "Oh, it is so good to see you. I was so worried." She looked toward the door, which Amina had closed behind him. "Where is my brother?"

Aylward hesitated for a moment before speaking. "I can't say with certainty, your grace. On his way surely."

"But didn't he come with you?"

"No, I left before the others." Aylward glanced over to Amina, who still looked ready to jump at any moment. "Lady Stark asked me to bring Lady Corrigan to safety."

"They aren't coming back." Amina did not phrase it as a question, but Aylward nodded, nonetheless. "We should wait for the others, for Margaery's sake." She looked to Margaery, who had moved to the window overlooking the courtyard.

Aylward didn't want to leave Margaery alone either, but they had no choice. Loras Tyrell was as likely to take Amina hostage as Stannis was. Arguably, if the Tyrells joined the Lannisters, it would be worse for her. Not that Aylward expected she would live that long. "My lady, my apologies, but I do not think you have the luxury to wait."

Lady Corrigan looked at him for a long time. She gripped the knife tightly in her hand, and he knew that his assessment had been correct. Amina Corrigan would never let herself become someone's hostage.

"Mina, you have to go." Margaery's voice turned both of their attentions. The Dowager Queen walked toward them and laid a hand on Amina's shoulder. "I will be alright. You heard Ser Caswell, Loras is on his way."

Amina took a moment to answer, but finally nodded. To Aylward she said, "Robb is in the Westerlands, north of Oxcross. I need to see him."

"Then that's where we'll go."

With his assurances, Amina turned back to Margaery. The girls embraced each other tightly. "We'll see each other again," Amina promised her. "Someday when this is all over."

"I hope so," Margaery said quietly. The girls broke apart and it was Aylward's turn to say his goodbyes. The young queen looked up at him with a soft smile. "This isn't goodbye, Ser Caswell. Our paths always cross again."

Historically speaking, it was true. Even when Aylward's path had led him away from Highgarden and to King's Landing, Renly brought him back in the end. But this was another journey, and the realm was at war. Nothing was certain. Even still, he wanted to believe her.

"Until next time then," he said quietly.

Margaery turned away from him and joined Lady Corrigan in ensuring Amina's bag was full to bursting. "I'll write when my brother arrives," Margaery assured them both. "Be safe."

Amina pointed at the chair that had presumably been blocking the door before he came in. "Barricade the door when we're gone," she instructed Margaery. "Let no one in until Loras comes." The brunette looked a bit exasperated with Lady Corrigan's fussing, but nodded. "Goodbye, Margaery."

* * *

A fortnight had passed since they'd left Bitterbridge. They were in the farmlands somewhere between Goldengrove and Old Oak. Aylward had gotten them a room at an inn for the night, they needed the hot meal and the soft bed.

Lady Corrigan lay asleep, curled in on herself. Aylward paced by the door, as she turned fitfully. She whispered again. The words were foreign to his ears, though he'd heard enough High Valyrian to recognize the language.

Aylward had dozed off on watch. When he woke, he thought Amina was speaking to him, ready to reprimand him for falling asleep. But Lady Corrigan was unconscious. He listened in vain waiting for her words to make sense. And then he heard the name, "Daenerys."

In King's Landing, Robert had urged his High Council to send assassins after a girl he deemed a threat. Renly had thought the whole idea preposterous. King Robert was relying on the word of spies half a world away, surely the girl could not be who they thought she was. More like she was just a silver-haired girl from Lys.

It was only in Highgarden that Aylward had learned the girl was, in fact, the very thing Robert feared. The last Targaryen. If the merchants' gossip along the pier was to be believed, she was more than just that. Daenerys Targaryen had married a Dothraki, survived countless assassins, and hatched dragon eggs.

Aylward had believed it to be only gossip, stories which had grown larger than life with each mile across the sea. But now, Amina Corrigan was tossing and turning in the midst of some dream. Whatever she was seeing had something to do with that girl Robert had been so afraid of.

Perhaps it was nothing. Perhaps the rumors had may their way to Riverrun and to Amina's ears. Perhaps she was only dreaming of a princess far away from this war-torn world that she, herself, lived in.

But Aylward had never believed in coincidences, and too many pieces of Amina's story didn't add up. House Corrigan had resources, true. Beldain was full of natural riches. But any lord could have taken Amina in. Yet, somehow, she'd made it to Winterfell. She was close enough to the Starks to consider them family. They provided her with all the luxuries and privileges owed a Lady of a great house. But House Corrigan was only a vassal, and a ruined one at that.

The girl stirred, and finally woke. She looked over at him with tired eyes. "I can take watch," she murmured. Amina turned and slid out of bed.

"You speak Valyrian in your sleep," Aylward said to her back. Amina froze. At her side, her fingers twitched as if searching for the knife belt that wasn't there.

"Years of lessons I suppose," she said, turning around. "Maester Luwin would be proud to know I'm dreaming in Valyrian."

"You said a name as well," he continued. " _Daenerys_."

To her credit, Amina didn't flinch. She looked at him for a moment, as if she could read his mind. "Go ahead, say it. Pass your sentence."

"You know her," he said. "The Targaryen across the Narrow Sea. The one they say hatched a dragon egg."

"Three," she said quietly. "She hatched three." Aylward looked at her, silent. He couldn't say it, it seemed too absurd. Amina said it for him, "Daenerys Targaryen is my sister."

For a while they were both quiet. Amina sat on the edge of the bed, smoothing out the riding dress she'd fallen asleep in. "I understand if you want to leave. Myst and I can make it to Oxcross on our own."

They both knew that was unlikely. The ocean road ran through Lannisport and Casterly Rock before it reached Oxcross. Amina would be throwing herself into enemy territory with nothing more than a dozen or so knives to protect her. Aylward was sure she could hold her own in a fight, but she was a lady of a noble house, she'd never been alone in her life.

"I promised Lady Stark I would take you to safety," Aylward said finally. "I will keep my word." He didn't miss the relief that crossed her face, though she hid it quickly behind a blank expression. "Go back to sleep. You'll need your rest for the road ahead."


	22. The Kraken's Kiss

**THE KRAKEN'S KISS**

 **T** hey were not so far upriver that the air had lost its briny scent. Thyra took a deep breath, inhaling the comforting smell of ocean and salt. With it came a metallic tang as her crew sharpened their weapons in preparation for the battle ahead.

If she squinted, Thyra could just make out the _Iron Victory_ leading the pack. Her father's longship was imposing with large sails baring the black and gold arms of House Greyjoy. They were not unlike those upon _Kraken's Kiss_ , only Thyra's had been lined with an extra trim of gold at Victarion's request. When they were in battle, her sails would stand out amongst the rest.

If they were at sea, she would have brought her ship alongside her father's, ready to dart ahead at a moment's notice. The _Kraken's Kiss_ was amongst the fastest in the Iron Fleet after all. But the Fever River was too narrow for any proper formations, and so she hung back.

A willowy redhead joined Thyra at the prow. "The water grows shallow, we'll need to beach the ships soon," Brenna said. Thyra glanced down at the water. She couldn't see the riverbed yet, but Brenna was never wrong about these things. She was a Farwynd, and as Aeron liked to say, the Farwynds were a queer sort of folk. If his stories were to be believed the Farwynds descended from selkies. Even now they could commune with the creatures of the sea.

More like they were just strange due to their isolation at Lonely Light. Their tower, and the islands that surrounded it, were eight days ride from Ironman's Bay. Before she joined Thyra's crew, Brenna had never gone further than Great Wyk.

It wasn't long before _Iron Victory_ signaled that they would soon beach. Thyra called the order back to her crew, who passed it along to the ships that followed behind them. She watched as they worked, her little group of Ironborn. Kromm Goodbrother called out orders from the aft, keeping the newer recruits in line. "He'll be leaving soon," Thyra said with a sigh.

Brenna raised an eyebrow. "Not until your father allows him to join the Iron Fleet as a captain. Kromm won't go home and join his father's ranks, he's too proud."

Thyra shook her head. "Victarion will never let a green captain join the Iron Fleet, not unless I give him a ship." The idea had crossed the mind before. Every lord on the Iron Islands commanded a fleet, as well as captaining their own flagship. Even Asha had a small fleet of her own.

Captaining a single ship came with freedom that commanding a fleet did not. A single ship could go anywhere, anytime. But, commanding her own fleet meant Thyra was one step closer to following in her father's footsteps.

"Something to consider," Brenna hummed. It would have to wait after she took Torrhen's Square. They had Moat Cailin to attack first, and then several days sail before they reached the other castle. There was no time for Kromm's ego just yet.

Ahead the other ships had begun to go ashore. Thyra left Brenna and made her way across the ship, checking that things were ready. She gathered her own weapons. First, she slung a crossbow across her back. Then she inspected her falchion and strapped its scabbard to her belt.

Thyra felt a thrum of excitement as the ship went ashore. She looked over her crew one last time before calling them forward. "We've gone over this all before. You know who you're fighting with." Across the deck Brenna had found her cousin, Halleck. Thyra found her own companion, Steffarion Weaver, who nodded at her once. "We'll stick together as much as possible. If you are separated, we'll meet at the Gatehouse Tower when the fighting is done."

Thyra swept her eyes over her crew again. She could sense their anticipation and it only served to fuel her fire. This was what the Ironborn had been dreaming of for eleven years. This was their chance at redemption, at showing the men of the green lands what they were made of. "Let's go take the North!" She called out, and as they leapt onto dry land, her crew let out a war cry to shake the earth.

* * *

Victarion Greyjoy summoned his daughter to his chambers in the Gatehouse Tower. It was a dreary tower, like the others. The walls were built of black basalt and covered in green moss and slimy ropes of ghostskin. Moat Cailin made Pyke look positively cheerful.

Thyra would be glad to be back on _Kraken's Kiss_ in a few days' time. The majority of the Iron Fleet were settled now, it was time for her to go. Victarion had chosen fifty ships to accompany Thyra to Torrhen's Square. The crews were prepared to sail.

"You asked for me?" She said, as she stepped into the room. A large table carved of stone sat in the middle, and that was where Victarion stood, looking over the maps.

For a moment, she thought he wouldn't speak. She had taken her time crossing from the Children's Tower, where her crew was bedding down. Steffarion and Kromm had been arguing again, and she'd needed to calm them down. They were her two best men, but they had little love for each other.

The Goodbrothers were a prestigious house, and though Kromm was of a cadet branch, he carried that pride with him. The Weavers were a young house and thus commanded little respect. It was the reason Steffarion had sought out Thyra and her crew. It was also the reason Kromm distrusted him. In his mind, Steff was nothing but a ladder climber. He was only using the Greyjoy name and the Iron Fleet connection to build House Weaver's reputation. Perhaps Kromm was correct. But Steff had sworn he would fight for Thyra 'til the day his father died, and he was duty bound to command his own fleet. She believed him.

Brenna was right, Thyra needed to seriously consider giving Kromm his own ship. They were like to have a full-blown fight on their hands if she didn't.

Victarion brought Thyra back to the present by pushing a piece of paper across the table. Thyra stepped forward and picked up the curling note.

She read the words once. Then again. Her eyes flicked up to her father, who was watching her as if her reaction was some sort of test. "Is this a joke?" Thyra said finally. Victarion shook his head once.

"The fool has sailed for Torrhen's Square," Thyra cursed, slapping the letter down to the table. "With _two_ longships. Not even Cleftjaw is enough to storm that castle. Balon gave _me_ that task. What is in that head of his? I know it isn't a brain."

"You're as quarrelsome as Balon," Victarion noted. Thyra wanted to snap that if she were like his eldest brother, it was his own fault. He'd been the reason her uncle raised her. But she kept her mouth shut, so as not to prove his point. "The boy thinks himself brave. He wishes to prove himself. You and Asha were ordered to storm castles, he was ordered to raid fishing villages."

"Yes, we were all there to note the slight, father," she said dryly. "If the Drowned God is good, perhaps Theon will die at the hands of the Northmen and all our suspicions will be confirmed. My cousin is a soft boy, more of the green lands than the Islands. Asha deserves to sit the Seastone Chair, not her brother."

Victarion grunted. "Her day may well come, but if the Drowned God is good, he will grant Theon victory. He may be Stark raised, but he has salt in his blood. Same as you. The boy was brave."

"Bravery and stupidity are two sides of the same sword," Thyra muttered. Her father shrugged. "I will not go to his rescue. He can find his own way out of this one." She turned on her heels and stomped toward the door.

"Thyra," Victarion called. It pained her to stop, but she did so. "Since you'll be staying at Moat Cailin, take charge of the garrison at the Children's Tower. I don't trust the Sparr to do it." Thyra let out a short breath and pushed open the door into the dark and mossy hall.

* * *

The raven from Deepwood Motte had arrived the morning before. By time the sun rose again, the crew of _Kraken's Kiss_ was packed and ready to set off for Winterfell. Thyra's men were eager to move. Nearly a moon had passed since they'd arrived in Moat Cailin, and they were never meant to stay so long.

Thyra was far more eager to give her halfwit of a cousin a good punch in the gut. First, he'd gone and stolen her castle. Well, _stolen_ implied he'd actually succeeded in taking it. He hadn't. Instead he'd abandoned Dagmer Cleftjaw to the wrath of the North. Then he'd marched on Winterfell. Theon had succeeded there at least, but for what gain? Winterfell was a landlocked castle surrounded by rolling hills instead of waves. It was no place for an Ironborn.

When Theon had written to Asha, asking for reinforcements, Asha had written to Thyra. Though she was less than thrilled to be moving further inland, if Asha wanted her there, Thyra would go.

The motley pack of Ironborn made their way north on the Kingsroad. They had a few horses between them, taken from the fallen at Moat Cailin. But those they had were mostly used to carry supplies. Like most Ironborn, Thyra had never been much for riding. There was nowhere to ride on the Islands, and why bother trying when you could sail instead?

When they settled down to camp, Thyra's favorites joined her around the fire. Brenna leaned against Kromm. The redhead looked exhausted, though been traveling for a just few days. Thyra understood, it was the water. The closest rivers were days away and the sea even further. Their ship was ashore on the banks of the Fever. They were far from home.

Steffarion was discussing the maps with Urrathon Marrick, as if they could get lost while following the road. Urri was an excellent seaman, but he would never captain his own ship. His father was a bowyer on Pyke, and though he made a good living it would never be enough to buy his son a ship. Not that he would ever do such a thing, even if he could. He'd been wroth when Urrathon abandoned the family trade for the _Kraken's Kiss_. But Thyra was glad to have him.

Halleck Farwynd had convinced Gwyn to play the finger dance. She ducked or jumped more often than not, which made Halleck cackle. His laughter filled the camp and calmed Thyra's nerves. At least someone was at ease.

"No more, Hal," Gwyn said, holding up her hands in surrender. She joined the others by the fire, panting. Her long blonde hair had come out of its braid and fell around her shoulders like a blanket. "What's for supper?" Steffarion launched a piece of dried cod at Gwyn's head. Unlike the axe, she caught it. "Lovely."

Thyra offered the blonde a piece of bread. When Gwyn arrived on Pyke, the largest adjustment had been the food. Everything else she'd taken in stride. But she complained endlessly about the Ironborn's cooking. Occasionally, if she were in a nostalgic mood, Gwyn would tell them about the rich meals of the Westerlands. Typically, those conversations would end when someone teased her about returning. After that her mood would darken and she'd finish her meal in silence.

Across the circle, Halleck sat next to Dalton Pyke, who was absorbed in a book he'd found at Moat Cailin. Of them all, it was Dalton, not Gwyn, that seemed the least Ironborn. His mother had been a Northerner of noble birth. Her family had been all but wiped out by Ironborn raids during Robert's Rebellion. Thyra hadn't known her but thought it likely Dalton took after his mother.

Halleck dropped a few pieces of dried cod on top of the pages and Dalton scowled up at him. "You lug that thing all the way from the Neck?" He asked.

"It's very interesting," Dalton defended. "I couldn't put it down."

"You'll finish it before we get to Winterfell," Thyra reprimanded. "Then what, you'll just carry it there and back?"

"Perhaps I could trade for one there?" Dalton asked, sheepish. Thyra shook her head but smiled, nonetheless. He was just a boy, nearly a decade her junior. But he was smarter than half her crew combined.

"What will we do at Winterfell?" Urri asked, after a silence. "The Northmen will come back for it, there are plenty who didn't follow the Young Wolf south. We can't hold that castle, not even with Asha's crew."

Thyra sighed, a long stream of breath that she could see in the cold air. "We know that, so does Asha. But Theon…He'll have to learn it for himself."

"Then why bother going at all?" Gwyn asked. She didn't say it, but she was cold. They all were. Autumn had fallen hard.

It was a good question. There was nothing they could do. But still, Thyra remembered the day Maron had died in the collapse of the old south tower during Robert's siege. She had hidden with Asha and Aunt Alannys until the fighting was over and they'd all been brought before the King. They'd watched Lord Stark take Theon, and Alannys had squeezed both girls' hands. To this day Thyra didn't know if she'd done it to keep them from running, or herself.

Thyra gave a small shrug. "They're family."


	23. Aylward IV

**AYLWARD**

 **O** ld Oak was the same as Aylward remembered it. The castle was far larger than Bitterbridge. Attention had been paid to every detail making it almost as beautiful as Highgarden. But still, the sight of the keep, flanked by its namesake oaken forest, was bittersweet.

The last time Aylward had been here, it was winter and a fever had torn through the surrounding villages. Wylla had been among the first to catch it, but no one noticed until it was too late. It started with a red flush, easily mistaken for exposure to the frosty air outside. Then the fever came. By then, half the castle had it.

Aylward had recovered, as had Lady Oakheart and her eldest son, Wylla's father. Arwyn's third son, as well as Wylla, had not been so lucky. The maester had been the first to die, and after he was gone no help was sent to Old Oak for weeks. And it was all because Lorent Caswell had burnt his brother's letter.

The knight was escorted into the great hall of Old Oak, with Amina trailing behind him. Aylward was sure they both looked harried and unkempt from the fortnight they'd spent traveling. He felt out of place amongst the fine furnishing and the beautifully inlaid walls depicting scenes from the Age of Heroes.

Lady Arwyn Oakheart came to meet the haggard duo. She dismissed their escort with a wave of her hand over Aylward's shoulder, then greeted Amina first. "Ah, Lady Corrigan, so you made it out of Bitterbridge in one piece. Where is Lady Stark?"

"She left from Storm's End," Aylward answered.

Arwyn clicked her tongue disapprovingly. "The impertinence of Renly to cart that poor woman across the country to witness his exhausting blood feud." She gave no sign that she regretted speaking ill of the dead. "I left Bitterbridge when word came of his death. We will see what the Tyrells decide, but until then there is no point leading my men on a jaunt around the country." Amina pressed her lips together in an attempt to hide a smirk.

"Now, where are you two off to?" Arwyn asked. "Riverrun?"

"Oxcross," Amina told her. "The King in the North is fighting near there; I hope to find him."

Arwyn nodded. "A raven came from Red Lake with word of fighting at Sarsfield. I believe your king was expected to continue north from there."

Amina nodded, though Aylward could see the exhaustion on her face. Sarsfield was another day's ride north of Oxcross. Beyond there, the mountains would make travel more difficult.

"We'll rest for the night and change horses in the morning before we set off," Aylward told Lady Oakheart.

Before Arwyn could agree, Amina interrupted her. "I won't leave Myst." Aylward glanced over at her. She'd spoken more since they'd walk through the gates of Old Oak than she had in the three days since they'd left the inn. "She was a gift from Eddard Stark. I won't trade her."

Aylward looked back to Arwyn, who nodded. She'd lost family as well; she knew that pain. "Then you'll stay two nights, and I'll see that your horse is treated like royalty." Then she turned to Aylward and continued. "And _you_ will join me in my solar as soon as you're settled."

From the tone of Arwyn's voice, he knew it was not a request. Despite everything, Aylward found himself biting back a laugh. Bitterbridge and Highgarden and King's Landing were all places he had lived. But Old Oak was home, and he'd been away far too long.

* * *

From Lady Oakheart's solar, the Sunset Sea could just be seen in the distance. The sun reflected off the water and gave the illusion that the world ended past Old Oak's borders. A part of Aylward wished that were true.

"Wylla used to dream of worlds far across the Sunset Sea," Arwyn said, coming up to join him. "Arthur use to tease her for it. She believed those who never returned found somewhere wonderful. He would tell her they'd drowned."

Aylward smiled to himself. Of all Arwyn's sons, Wylla had been the closest to Arthur. Armen was too surly, Arys was too young, and her father was far too busy being an heir. But Arthur had made Wylla feel like the belonged there, no matter who her mother was or what last name she bore. She was an Oakheart. After Aylward had married Wylla, Arthur had done the same for him. And then, they had both died of the winter fever.

"I wish they were still here," Aylward said quietly.

Arwyn laid a hand on the knight's shoulder and gave him a sad smile. "As do I. But at least you've come home."

He shook his head. "I should not have stayed away so long. I should not have left at all." When the sickness had passed, Aylward hardly stayed long enough for the bodies to be buried. He could not bear to stay in the castle haunted by so many memories. He'd thrown himself into work and into the role of a stoic knight to avoid his grief.

"My dear boy, you did what you had to. If I could have sailed into the Sunset Sea to find those lands Wylla dreamed of, I would have." Arwyn motioned toward a chair and poured them each a glass of Arbor gold. "She would have been proud of you. You made a name for yourself without the help of your father, without even my own assistance."

"For whatever that's worth," Aylward muttered. He'd spent years serving at Renly's side, and now Renly was dead. He'd failed at his only responsibility.

Lady Oakheart gave him a look that he'd seen her give to her sons countless times. "You could have gone to Stannis. Despite what we all implied when we took up arms for his brother, he does have the best claim." Aylward took a sip of wine so he did not need to voice his own opinion of Stannis Baratheon. "You could have followed the Tyrells to King's Landing."

Aylward's face must have betrayed his surprise. Arwyn clarified, "Oh, nothing has been decided for certain. Though there's been plenty of talk that Margaery will marry the Lannister boy." She clicked her tongue twice. "That poor girl. She's far too soft for the capitol. It is a shame there's so little of her grandmother in her."

Maybe he had made a mistake, leaving so quickly and abandoning Margaery to the Lannisters. He'd come to know the family and their city in his years there, and to distrust them both. King's Landing may be headed by a Baratheon in name, but it was the Lannisters who held the reins.

"Had it not been for Lady Stark, I would have remained with the Tyrells. But she begged me to help Amina, and I could not refuse her."

"Will you rejoin the Tyrells after?" Arwyn asked. Aylward had the feeling she wished him to say no, though he could not say why. She looked at him for a moment. "It seems Lady Corrigan is in a unique position of power, all things considered. Perhaps she could use friends."

"Surely there's a Northerner more suited," Aylward argued. Though he doubted it, even as the words left his mouth. Beyond the Starks, who else knew her secret? Very few, he had to assume. Perhaps Arywn was righter than she realized.

Lady Oakheart gave a small shrug as she lifted her wine to her lips. "The choice is yours of course, but even I can see you have no desire to return to the lion's den." She replaced the glass on the table. "Now, do tell me what you've gotten up to these past years. I've missed so much."

* * *

Aylward and Amina were a day's ride from Lannisport. The journey would have been shorter had they kept to the road. But after crossing into the Westerlands, they had decided it would be safer to keep to the woods. Aylward waited in their makeshift camp alone. Amina had gone further into the trees to relieve herself before they left.

The sound of rustling leaves and breaking twigs did not startle him at first. It was the silence that followed which made him look up. He found a sword pressed against his throat. "Stay still and we might just leave you alive," the man said.

There were five of them. Their uniforms marked them as soldiers. One or two could have even been landless knights. From the state of their clothing, they'd abandoned their fight and their honor for gold. With the turn the war had taken, Aylward almost couldn't blame them.

Two of the men kept an eye on him, while the others searched through their things. "Where's the other one?" One of the men asked. He was tall, but not broad. In a fight, Aylward would win. But that would require fighting off the two men holding him at sword point.

"Hobb asked you a question," one of his captors said, jabbing his sword into Aylward's armor to make his point.

"Gone," Aylward said calmly. It was true, and if Amina returned to this, he hoped she would slip away before the men found her too. They were so close to her army now, even without him she would surely make it to safety.

The man who'd threatened him once already, looked prepared to do it again, but the man called Hobb held up a hand. "Forget it. Move quickly, keep an eye open."

The men continued to plunder their belongings. As Amina's things went into their bags, Aylward noticed her knife belt was not among them. Good, she'd have protection. She might need it.

The men were almost done, and then they would go. Surely, they knew better than to leave a knight alive. He could hunt them down or warn those in Lannisport of brigands in the woods. He found that even knowing Amina's secret, he was glad she would live. To survive so much only to die at the hands of common criminals seemed a cruel fate.

Hobb stood, slinging his pack full of stolen goods over his shoulder. The other two looters talked amongst themselves as they looked over the horses. Myst would fetch a good price. "Oh." Hobb said. He fell to his knees. The other men stopped talking and looked. He hit the ground, face first. Protruding out of his back was a knife.

Aylward's guards turned away, searching the woods for the unseen assailant. Aylward took the opportunity to disarm one and impale the other. In the meantime, Amina had flown out of the woods, her own sword drawn. The man she fought stumbled against her onslaught. Despite his soldier's garb, he was clearly unskilled. He'd probably been a peasant, his only training a few days with the Lannister army before they'd flown into battle. Amina had spent years training with Winterfell's master-at-arms. She was no knight, but she had more skill than a common soldier.

The remaining two men descended on Aylward, sensing him to be the bigger threat of the two. One of them was a knight; it was obvious from the way he carried himself that'd he trained longer than the others. Aylward dispatched him first.

Before he could turn on the other, the man stopped. Blood bubbled from his mouth. As he fell forward, Amina pulled the knife from his neck. Her hair had fallen from its braid, and her dress was torn. But save for a few scratches on her hands—from a fall no doubt—and a cut across her upper arm, she seemed to be unharmed.

"You saved my life," Aylward said a bit dumbly. She looked at him, breathing heavily. "You should have gone, saved yourself." Amina narrowed her eyes in a way that told him the thought had never crossed her mind. The cross of her arms said she was offended that he'd even considered it had. "Thank you."

Amina shrugged once. "I would've done it for anyone."

Aylward believed that. "I was wrong about you," he said finally. "You are more than your blood."

She looked at him for a moment, then nodded once. "Oxcross is but a few days ride, I can make it on my own. Robb's outriders will find me." Amina began moving to gather her things from the would-be robbers. "You are free to go, Ser Caswell. I cannot ask you to stay in my service."

"You do not have to ask," he said quietly. Amina stopped, but did not turn back toward him. "Since that day, I have looked for the madness they say Targaryen's possess. I have looked for some confirmation of what I wanted to believe. But I have not seen it." She turned then, watching him with a curious gaze. "Instead I've seen loyalty, and bravery, and a fierce love for family. In your heart, you are a wolf. But your blood makes you the rightful Queen."

Aylward knelt before her and placed his sword at her feet. She looked down at it as if in a daze. "I pledge my sword to you. I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for you. I swear it by the old gods and the new."

The Princess continued staring. Aylward thought she might refuse him. _And where will I go if she does?_ His king was dead, his friends had scattered, and his brother…well there was no choice. She must take him.

Finally Amina nodded. "Then I vow you shall always have a place by my hearth and meat and mead at my table, and pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you into dishonor." Her words were stilted but she said them with familiarity. Between Eddard Stark and the King in the North she'd surely heard them plenty. "I swear it by the old gods and the new. Arise."


	24. Robb III

**ROBB**

 **I** t took all Robb's willpower not to run through the halls of Ashemark on his way to Amina. His outriders had found her near Sarsfield and brought her to the hilltop castle he'd captured. Robb had been afield, and it had taken nearly a day for word to reach him. He'd returned as soon as he'd been able.

When Robb opened the door to the rooms he'd claimed for himself, Amina was sitting in the window. She was dressed in green. Her hair was freshly dyed and fell loose around her shoulders. Briefly he wondered who she'd trusted enough to procure the dye, with his mother so far away in Riverrun. But then Amina turned, and he ceased to think of anything else.

She'd been crying, and as she stood, she all but stumbled into his arms. "Amina," Robb whispered into her hair. He'd gotten taller, and she fit more easily under his chin. "Mother sent a letter from Riverrun, she said you weren't with her. We all thought–"

"We argued, I stayed in Bitterbridge when she went to Storm's End." She looked up at him and he could see the exhaustion and fear of the past few weeks reflected in her eyes. "Renly's dead. He was so confident, so _sure_. And no one knows who killed him. One moment he was alive, and then..."

Robb pressed a kiss to Amina's forehead. She melted against his chest. "It made me realize how easily you could have been in his place." Amina put her hands on either side of his face and looked into his eyes. "If anything happened to you–" He didn't allow her to finish the sentence, cutting her off by pressing his lips against hers.

Amina froze, and for a moment Robb worried he'd overstepped. But then she kissed him back fiercely. Her hands found the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head. Robb reached for the laces on her gown, and she laughed softly as he struggled to pull them free. Finally, he won the battle, and she shrugged the dress from her shoulders.

They looked at each other for a moment, both half-dressed. Robb ran a finger across Amina's face from one cheek to the other. "You have freckles." His men had told him of the state Amina had arrived in. She'd been sleeping in the woods for weeks and spending hours under the sun. He wished she hadn't gone, that she would never go away again. That he could have her by his side for the rest of his life.

Amina put her hand on his bare chest and ran her fingers up to his neck. Robb scooped her up, and she let out a squeak as her arm went around his neck to hold on. He placed her delicately on the bed. Amina bit her lip as she looked up at him, and he couldn't help himself from kissing her again.

Amina tangled her fingers in his hair as he explored his body with his hands. She let out a soft moan as he left her lips to press kisses along her neck. "Marry me," he whispered with his lips against her skin. Amina shivered. "Be my queen." She hooked her thumb under his chin and pushed him back. Robb looked at her, the knowledge that she loved another pushed into his thoughts. She was quiet as she ran her hands over his shoulders and rested them on his neck.

So many battles that he'd already lost count, yet none had scared him more than the prospect that Amina might say no. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she bobbed her chin once in a tiny nod. Robb didn't trust himself to speak. Amina bit her lip and then whispered, "Yes, Robb, I'll marry you."

Robb kissed her with fervor, and Amina laughed softly against his lips. "I love you," he whispered. She knotted her fingers in his hair, but didn't repeat his words. It was all right, she was his and there would be time.

* * *

The Crag had fallen easier than expected. Smalljon Umber and Black Walder had scaled the walls with their men, while Robb had broken through the main gate. Ser Caswell, Amina's new sworn sword, had fought alongside him. The man was skilled, that was certain. But throughout the battle, Robb's mind was only on one thing. When the weapons were down and the castle was surrendered, he'd met Amina in the Godswood.

It was a pitiful thing, the Godswood of the Crag. The stump of a heart tree was all that remained of the First Men's legacy. But it was located in a garden overlooking the sea, and the clear skies bathed them in moonlight. Amina's grey and silver gown seemed to glow as they said the old words with Ser Caswell and his uncle Brynden as witness.

Then he'd placed the crown on her head. A tiara of bronze with iron spikes in the shape of longswords, a smaller version of his own crown. It sat on her forehead as if it were meant to be there. Before the gods, he'd proclaimed her Queen.

Amina stood in their rooms, in the Crag, holding that crown in her hands. She ran her fingers gently over the swords. "I had it forged with mine and held onto it," he told her. "Just in case."

"You wouldn't have given it to that Frey girl?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. They hadn't spoken of it yet, that he'd broken a promise to Walder Frey. They would have to find a way to appease the old man, but he was sure Amina would think of something. But Robb couldn't bring himself to worry about them now, they would have to wait.

She sat the crown back on the table and joined him in bed. "We should keep it to ourselves until I return. It wouldn't do to send the men running while I'm unable to do anything about it." Robb sighed, but he knew better than to argue. Amina was returning to Winterfell, to confront Theon who'd seized the castle.

They both knew it was useless, talking sense into Theon Greyjoy. They'd known him far too long to hope he'd listen. But they both knew that Amina had to try. Neither of them would forgive themselves if she didn't. And then there was the matter of Bran and Rickon, prisoners in their own home.

Despite all that, Robb still wished she didn't have to go. He'd only just gotten her back. But Amina was decided. She would leave with Ser Caswell in the morning on a trading galley bound for Torrhen's Square.

Amina reached out a hand and intertwined her fingers with his. "I'll be back before you know it. I should think the war will keep you busy in the meantime."

Robb pulled her toward him and kissed her softly. She rested beside him and put her head on his chest. "My wife," he whispered. Amina smiled up at him. He still couldn't believe it was true. At any moment he expected to be shaken from the dream and brought back into real life.

"I'm sorry that I pushed you away," Amina said. She didn't look him as she spoke, just drew shapes on his chest with her finger. "I wanted it to be easy, you and I. But one day, you stopped being my friend and started being my betrothed. I wished you wouldn't try so hard. You didn't need to; we were _best_ friends."

Amina paused and Robb thought back to that day. He knew the day she meant, but he'd never thought about it that way. Robb had woken up, gone down to the training yard, and found Amina throwing her knives. He'd never felt nervous around her before, but that day he had. They had both always known his father meant for them be wed one day. But she was a princess, and who was he? A lordling who only had her due to circumstance?

"I'm sorry," Robb told her. "I only ever wanted to give you everything."

Her lips parted for a moment, and then she smiled. He thought there might be tears in her eyes. "You get your heart from your mother. Cat means well, but sometimes she loves so much it's hard to breathe." Amina squeezed his hand. "I was wrong to want this to be easy. Perhaps some things aren't meant to be, perhaps the best things take time and effort."

She still wasn't saying everything, there was still the secret that loomed. But it was far more than Robb had ever gotten from her before. It was a good omen, a sign that their new life ahead would be a good one.

"I love you, Amina Stark," Robb whispered. She ducked her head to hide the smile that bloomed over her face. Though she didn't say it back, Amina pressed her lips to his, and for him that was enough.


	25. Amina VI

**AMINA**

 **D** aenerys threaded her fingers through Amina's, and gave her sister a reassuring smile. In the months since their first visit, the two had spoken often. It was impossible to make up for the lost years, but they had tried their best. Dany had told stories of her childhood in the Free Cities and their brother, Viserys. He had died at the hand of the Dothraki Khal who'd been Dany's husband. Amina weaved stories about Winterfell, the Godswood, and the Starks. Her boys, and her knives, and the war.

Daenerys preferred to tell stories, not to hear them. Amina couldn't blame her sister; she'd been raised on tales of Robert's "evil" deeds and Eddard's part in them. Changing the very foundation Dany's life had been built upon would be a long process. Still, it had warmed Amina's heart to see her sister smile at news of her wedding. "And now I'm Queen in the North, I have a crown."

"You were always a queen," Daenerys said, dismissively. "But it's true men make the crowns. I'm sure you will wear it well."

Now they stood in front of a ruined tower called the House of the Undying. It was a grim place, and Amina felt no magic radiating from the walls. She looked at the strange man, an unspoken question on her face. Pyat Pree was a pale, skinny man, with blue lips. Amina trusted him even less than the merchant prince, Xaro Xhoan Daxos, who'd greeted her with sickly sweet words each time she'd visited his manse.

These people were not Amina's people. She did not understand them the way she knew the men and women of the Seven Kingdoms, and that put her at a disadvantage. Even her sister, with her pretty silver hair and trio of dragons, did little to put her at ease. Daenerys had become Khaleesi to a Dothraki Khalasar, and her sworn sword was a Mormont who had once been banished by Eddard Stark for slaving. Perhaps Amina's own foundations were just as firmly built as her sister's.

"Remember," Pyat Pree said, "always take the first door on your right, never go down, and enter no room till the audience chamber." The twins nodded again. Amina wondered if Daenerys was truly confident in this journey, or if she had just learned to hide her feelings as well. "Drink this. It will unstop your ears and dissolve the caul from your eyes, so that you may hear and see the truths that will be laid before you."

Amina accepted the shade-of-the-evening warily, but Daenerys put it immediately to her lips. Shoving her own worries out of her mind, Amina drank the glass empty in one sip. It tasted the way rotten leaves smelt, and she nearly gagged. But then it hit her, the feeling of warmth, like fire spreading through her veins. The aftertaste was sweet, like honey cakes, and spicy, like the Highgarden hippocras she'd had with Margaery. It reminded her of Robb's lips, though she couldn't say why, and the way the Godswood smelt after a fresh snow. Then it was gone.

Disconcerted, Amina all but slammed the empty glass back onto the tray. Pyat Pree smiled. "Now you may enter." Dany grabbed her sister's hand, and the two stepped through the door. The first three chambers were the same; empty rooms save for four doors. As instructed, they took the door to their right each time. Then they came to a hall, seemingly unending, but all the doors were to the left.

Rhaegal, the small green dragon, reminded Amina of his presence by digging his sharp claws into her shoulder and hissing in her ear. The dragon had taken to her, and she it, in a way she had never felt connected to any of the Stark's direwolves. She reached an absent hand up to scratch behind Rhaegal's ear.

Daenerys tugged insistently on Amina's hand and they moved quickly past the doors. Finally, alone, Amina realized her sister was just as frightened as she. There was a fierce banging on a closed door, as if something was trying to break free. Dany jumped, and Amina squeezed her hand tightly. She tried to stay focused on the path ahead, the dragon on her shoulder, and her sister's hand in hers. But curiosity got the better of her. At the next open door, Amina peeked.

The vision through the door was one of Old Nan's stories come to life. It was if she was experiencing every terrible tale at once. The shadows formed into terrifying shapes. Amina could hardly make out one before it shifted into something entirely different. All she knew was the deep chill in her bones. _My kingdom is dying._ She turned away quickly, avoiding the sight; it was her turn to pull her sister along.

The second door held a scene more unsettling than the first. A feast of corpses amid a room strikingly familiar, though Amina couldn't place it. The bodies were black and purple, swollen with rot. The stench of death blending with the sickly-sweet smell of rotting fruits and old wine. Chairs and tables were overturned. Swords and arrows lay discarded in the slaughter.

At the head of the room, upon a carved wooden throne, was a figure that sucked the breath right out her lungs. Grey Wind's head, large and grey and matted with sticky blood. Though she couldn't say if the blood was his own or if it belonged to the human body it had been poorly attached to. It was all Amina could do to keep herself from screaming. Her Robb, her dear sweet Robb. Dany's fingers dug into Amina's wrist, nails nearly breaking skin. "It isn't real," her sister whispered. They fled to the next open door.

The gleaming white snow caught her attention first. Gods, it had been too long since she'd touched snow. Without thinking, her hand flew through the doorway, to catch a few flakes on her fingertips. As they melted away onto her skin, Amina realized what she was seeing. The Godswood of Winterfell, the Heart Tree in the middle with its carved face and blood-red sap tears. The sight made her chest tighten.

"There you are, Ami." A tiny sob caught in her throat as Jon walked toward her, hand outstretched. "I've been looking for you." His black curls were longer than she remembered, and she longed to run her fingers through them. But his cloak was wrong. Not the grey of Winterfell, or the black of the Night's Watch. He was clad in sheepskin that meant to be white, but had been matted and dirtied by snowmelt. "Come on, Ami. They're looking for you." It broke her heart to turn away, but it wasn't Jon. Not really.

The sisters ran down the hall, their dragons urging them on, and still the doors went on. Some open, some closed, each door different than the last. Amina refused to look, she'd seen too much already. She thought she would never scrub that image of Robb's body, defiled and displayed, from her mind.

Finally they stopped, Dany's heavy breathing the only sound. Large bronze doors stood closed to their left, and Amina felt as if she should know them. As if they'd been waiting for her, they opened. Inside was the largest hall she'd ever seen. The Great Hall of Winterfell seemed like a child's bedchamber in comparison.

It should have been the throne that drew her in, a towering mass of steel gleaming in the dim light. Instead, it was the Seven-Pointed Star, formed of colored glass in the window, that caught her eye. It seemed so foreign to her, though there'd been a small sept at Winterfell built for Catelyn. The Seven had been the Gods of Amina's ancestors, but to her they were just some Southron folly.

"Let him be king over charred bones and cooked meat." The sharp voice drew her attention back to the throne. It was an old man, with grey hair. _No, it's silver, like Dany's_. He wore a dragon crown, with jewels that seemed to eat the light instead of reflecting it. She knew that crown from the histories, Aegon the Unworthy's crown. But the man upon the throne with the waist long hair and wild eyes was not any Aegon. It was her father. "Let him be the king of ashes. We will rise again, fire cannot kill the dragon." Drogon shrieked on Dany's shoulder, but their father did not hear, and so they moved on.

The man's braided silver hair and indigo eyes gave him away as another Targaryen, only this man was much younger than the last. He stood above a small woman with long dark hair and olive skin. The woman nursed a babe at her breast. "Aegon," the man said. "What better name for a king?" _He looks straight out of the songs,_ Amina thought wistfully. She could see herself in Rhaegar. They shared a sharp jaw and nose, whereas Dany's features were softer, more delicate.

Elia's dark eyes were full of adoration as she looked between her son and her husband. "Will you make a song for him?"

"He has a song," Rhaegar replied. "He is the prince that was promised, and his is the song of ice and fire." He looked up when he said it, as if he could see his sisters standing in the doorway arm in arm. "The dragon has three heads." Rhaegar turned suddenly, going to the window seat and picking up his harp. He ran his fingers lightly over its silvery strings. His sweet, sad music played as the scene faded away.

Amina had heard the stories of her eldest brother. Rhaegar had stolen Lyanna Stark away and sent the realm into a bloody war. He had fought bravely and valiantly, but he was the reason so many had died. But still, seeing his face had felt like home, the sadness of a family she would never know. A niece and a nephew who'd been butchered, while Amina had been saved. _What would the realm be if Rhaegar had sat the Iron Throne instead of Robert?_

The hall ended with stairs that went down, and they turned, searching the walls for a door that they had missed. Back the way they came, the torches flickered out, one by one. Soon they would be blanketed in darkness. Then Dany grabbed the last door they passed, which was now on their right, and went through. Another chamber with four doors, and another, and another, and another. It felt as if they were running in circles. Finally they reached more stairs, but these went up. So they climbed.

Finally, they reached the audience chamber. It was dark and dank, lit only by a glowing blue heart, which hung, unsuspended in the air. Beneath it was a long table, and the Undying sat before them, waiting.

The famed Undying were sad, withering things. Old and wrinkled with skin so thin it was nearly translucent. "We have come for the gift of truth." The quiver in Daenerys' voice betrayed her confusion. "In the long hall, the things we saw…were they true visions or lies? Past things, or things to come? What did they mean?"

Their replies came as whispers, a cacophony of ghostly voices all at once. … _the shape of shadows…morrows not yet made…drink from the cup of ice…drink from the cup of fire…mother of dragons…and bringer of light…so different yet so much the same…fates intertwined and the trials you'll face…three heads has the dragon…_

The voices seemed to be in Amina's head. The bodies in front of her seemed dead and gone, but still their words lived on inside her skull. _…three fires must you light…one for life and one for death and one to love…_ Amina tried to understand, to remember. The voices continued to swirl in her head, and endless stream. _…three mounts must you ride…one to bed and one to dread and one to love…_ The voices were growing louder, Amina realized. All the while her breathing grew shallower. … _three treasons will you know…once for blood and once for gold and once for love…_

If it weren't for Rhaegal, Amina might have lost herself in their words and the visions they assaulted her with. But the dragon flew toward the Undying with Drogon beside him. They tore at the blue heart and the Undying screamed, a terrible awful sound. By the time the sisters had made it to the door, the room was smoking behind them.

They emerged into the light of day, still holding hands. Amina felt herself being pulled back across the Narrow Sea. When she awoke, in her makeshift bed under the trees, Aylward looked at her with concern. Her sister's violet eyes, so confused, were burned into her memory, but the visions she'd seen seemed far way. "I have the terrible feeling I've forgotten something I must remember, and if I don't it could spell the end for us all."


	26. Theon III

**THEON**

 **T** here was a commotion outside, which pulled Theon from his uneasy sleep. He pushed Kyra aside, and went to the window. A flash of silver and a shout as one of the Ironmen fell to the ground, and then Amina was riding into the yard. Even from here he could see the expression on her face, one he'd never seen before. A knight rode behind her, cutting down another of Theon's men.

Theon cursed and dressed as quickly as he could. By the time he made it outside, Amina and the knight were surrounded. She looked calm as her fingers glided over her knife belt. She wore a grey gown with a shirt of mail over top, and a fine fur cloak. Perched in her hair was a diadem, a small wolf framed by iron spikes in the shape of longswords. The wolf had rubies for eyes.

"Stand down!" Theon shouted, before anyone could attack. The Ironborn looked at him incredulously, but he crossed to Amina and offered her a hand. She dismounted on her own, brushing past him as if he wasn't there. "We should talk inside," he said to her back.

Amina walked into the deserted great hall, and for a moment he thought she would go straight for the high seat. But she turned, and fixed him with an icy stare. _She looks every inch a queen_ , he thought.

"How could you?" Amina's voice was low, but the quiet fury that radiated from her was more terrifying than if she had raised her voice. Theon opened his mouth to speak, but she didn't give him the chance. "They were boys, Theon. _Boys_." She'd seen the heads then, tarred and displayed above the gate. He wanted to confess, he wanted her to smile or to hug him like she used to. He was so tired.

"I came to talk sense into you, to bring you back. But there is no returning from this." Amina shook her head. The ruby eyes on her crown gleamed as if reflecting her anger. She wore the crown easier than Robb, much easier than Theon himself. "You were my brother, I loved you."

Amina spoke about him as if he was already dead to her, and it drove the knife into his heart. "You shouldn't have come, Amina. You should be with Robb."

"You're right, I should be. This was a mistake. But I could not believe what they said, this isn't who you are." Her eyes softened and he thought he saw the threat of tears in her eyes, real tears not the kind she put on for show. "Come back with me, leave Winterfell. Face the consequences of your actions. Maybe..." She could pull a knife on him now, end it here, but she didn't. Despite everything, Amina still did not want him dead.

"You know I can't."

"I miss you, come home." Theon knew she didn't mean this castle, the place they'd grown up. Amina meant to her, his sister, the only person who'd loved him for ten years. Maybe the only person who still did. "As your queen, I ask you."

"I have no queen," he reminded her. "But I have a sister."

Amina was quiet for a moment; the tears that had threatened to spill over had dried. Theon watched her pull back into herself, the way she always did. But only with other people, never with him. "I hope she loves you," Amina said. "Maybe you'll let her save you." Then she turned away, and Theon felt as if a light had gone out of his life.

Theon wanted to shout out to her, tell her she was the only sister he'd ever wanted. That if she just asked him to come with her as his _sister_ , he would have had no choice. He would have given up everything for her. If Theon just told her that Bran and Rickon lived, he could have kept his head. Perhaps even gained back her trust one day. But Amina was already gone.

Theon started into the yard after her. Amina joined the knight and they went to their horses. The Ironborn looked to Theon for orders. He should hold Amina and her knight. His men would expect it. The Queen in the North would fetch a large ransom. With her as his hostage, Theon could end the war in one moment. But he could not bring himself to stop her. "Let them pass," Theon called toward the gate. "No one touches her."

* * *

Theon's nightmares had been interrupted by news that Asha had finally deigned to visit. He found her in the great hall, where she had seated herself in the high seat of the Starks. At her right hand was Thyra, who was grinning at a dark-haired man by her side. Theon could not remember seeing a smile so genuine on his cousin's face. That she could look so gleeful while Theon himself felt so low only deepened his disdain for her.

As Theon approached the table, Thyra's grin morphed into a sneer. She leaned back in her seat with a horn of ale and pressed her lips together. "I did not ask for your aid, cousin," he noted.

She raised an eyebrow. "Nor will you be getting it."

Theon's impatience got the better of him. He looked toward Asha. "I took this castle with thirty men, and you bring me twenty to hold it?"

Asha glanced up from her plate. "Ten," she corrected. His jaw dropped ever so slightly. "The other ten return with me. It is a long road back to Deepwood Motte, you wouldn't want your dear sister traveling alone, now would you?"

"And what of hers?" He asked, gesturing toward Thyra.

"Thyra must return to the Stoney Shore to clean up your messes, brother," Asha said around a bite of capon. "The Cleftjaw is gathering survivors there." He swallowed around the lump in his throat. Theon hadn't expected Dagmer to hold Torrhen's Square, not really. But the news of the lost battle had still stung.

"Speaking of your thirty men," Thyra said, leaning forward to prop her elbows on the table. "Where are they all now?" She scanned the room, doing the mental math.

"There are casualties in any war," Theon said tersely. He did not mention that several of the deaths had come at the hands of the Queen in the North. Or that the deaths had gone unpunished. Theon hoped his men knew to keep their own mouths shut. It would not do to have word of that misstep reaching his father.

Asha tossed down the remainder of her capon and stood. "Come, let us go somewhere we can speak more privily."

Like a sulking child, Theon led his sister toward Eddard Stark's solar. He scowled to convey Thyra's presence was not welcome, but she followed, nonetheless. He should have summoned them here in the first place, somewhere quiet and far away from the prying eyes of their crews. Once again, Theon found himself making another misstep.

"There are reports Lord Manderly has sent a fleet of barges upriver," he informed Asha, trying his best to ignore Thyra's presence. "The Umbers are gathering as well, and Leobald Tallhart has had the confidence to leave his walls. Those are just the reports we've gathered. By the moon's turn, there could be an army at my gate."

"You had a clever plan brother," Asha commended him. "If only you'd burned the castle and taken the boys back to Pyke when you had the chance. You have backed yourself into a corner, and there is no one to blame but yourself. Return with me to Deepwood Motte, save yourself."

Over Asha's shoulder, Thyra inspected the room. She ran her fingers over the spines of the books, seemingly oblivious to the conversation.

"Winterfell is the heart of the North," Theon pointed out. "What use is Deepwood Motte? If you'd turn your attentions here, we could win this war. We could take the North for good and all."

"We are fighting two different wars, cousin," Thyra said, turning her attention toward him. "What use is _Winterfell_? We are Ironborn." She waved a hand toward the window. "I see no oceans here. I see no rivers. You would condemn our people to a life surrounded by nothing but rolling hills. What sort of life is that for a man with salt in his blood?"

Theon shook his head. "People can change."

For a moment, he thought there was sadness in his cousin's eyes. But it was gone before he could say for certain. "Yes, you've proved that very well."

"You have enough men to give us a chance," Theon told her.

"My crew belong to the Iron Fleet," she reminded him. "We do not answer to the likes of you." Thyra's attention returned to the shelves, where she selected a book. She shook her head and smiled slightly to herself. "We have a long journey ahead of us."

Asha agreed, the two stepped toward the hallway, already speaking of future plans. Thyra paused at the doorway and glanced back at him. "May the Drowned God take pity on you, cousin."


End file.
